#with just a hint of irreverence and challenge

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

Arctic Monkeys, Cornerstone @ iTunes festival, 2011 ☆

[gingerteafairy]

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭

father charlie mayhew x reader

summary: there's a common thing between the saints and the pagans, they both hide behind the innocence.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, language, dub con, blasfemy, biblical references, humiliation, religious guilt. word count: 1.7k masterlist versão brasileira

A/N: As a girl who grew up in the church, this is almost a confession. Finally, the years were worth it. Thank you, Father Charlie, now I can release my religious guilt on your shoulders.

Sunday was a day of Mass, a sacred day, but for some reason, it was also the day you felt the most tempted. It was as if all of hell had gathered to whisper in your ear, provoking, testing, scratching at the cracks in your faith. And at some point, you simply began to give in. Going to church became exhausting, a hollow obligation, an automatic gesture to keep up appearances and please your family. It was a burden—or almost.

There was one exception.

Father Charlie.

His voice, soft yet laced with a touch of cynical humor, made his sermons intriguing, almost hypnotic. There was a magnetism in his presence, a paradox between devotion and irreverence. During the choir’s hymn, while the congregation closed their eyes in communion, you watched him. He would idly turn the ring on his finger, lost in thought, as if the small motion was an extension of his own contemplation. A subtle habit, repeated every Sunday, that had become a metronome for you, marking the rhythm of the disturbance he caused within you.

Father Charlie was a mortal sin. Perhaps all of them combined, blended into one irresistible temptation.

Then came the moment of communion. The line moved slowly, a procession of penitents awaiting their turn to receive the host. You walked among them, but something in your posture was different. Your spine was too straight, a hint of a smile ghosting the corner of your lips. When you finally reached him, your eyes lifted, gleaming with something that had no place there.

And then, like a mischievous child testing the boundaries, you stuck out your tongue.

Almost a challenge.

Almost an invitation.

And that was exactly what it was. Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering, as your tongue slowly withdrew, the wafer dissolving into the warmth of your mouth. His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary, his finger brushing ever so slightly against your lips before pulling away. He lifted your chin with the tip of his fingers and murmured a blessing, but there was something in the weight of the gesture—something less sacred, something undeniably human.

You stepped away from the line, that same satisfied smile playing on your lips, and slid into the front pew. You never did that. Never sat so close to the altar. But today was different. Today, you wanted to test the limits. A blasphemy.

If they cast you out, what difference would it make? You never wanted to be there anyway.

The Mass continued until the final blessing. The congregation stood, murmuring the last "Amens" in unison. You waited. Pretended indifference as he spoke with a few nuns, though you watched from the corner of your eye. His gaze flickered back to you—restless.

And then, finally, he approached, brow slightly furrowed, as if about to deliver your sentence.

"Hello, Your Holiness." Your voice came out soft, laced with provocation, as you took his hand and brought it to your lips in a reverent kiss.

"God bless you, my child." His response was automatic, but when he kissed your hand in return, his lips lingered for just a second longer than they should have. Just a second. Long enough for you to notice. Long enough for him to notice, too.

When he pulled away, he cleared his throat and tilted his head slightly. "I’d like to speak with you. Are you busy?"

You followed his gaze to your family, who were watching the exchange with smiles of satisfaction. As if they saw in it a sign of your redemption. You nodded, and they seemed even more pleased. The deception was almost amusing.

Charlie gave a faint smile, and with a discreet touch to your back, he guided you toward the pastoral office.

"To what do I owe the honor, Father?" you asked, your voice tinged with false innocence. Your hands were folded neatly in front of you, fingers interlocked in a gesture as theatrical as it was calculated.

"You’re young. I want to know how you feel about the community of my chapel." He settled into his chair, motioning for you to do the same. "Tell me, are you fulfilling your obligations?"

"No." The answer came quickly, punctuated by a confidence you didn’t even try to hide. You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a hint of challenge. "I wouldn’t want to lie to a saint in the house of God."

For a moment, he simply stared at you in silence. Then, he leaned back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly spinning the ring on his hand in that same methodical motion you knew so well.

"You know... the people God loves most are the ones brave enough to admit their sins. It's Psalms of David. The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." His voice was low, almost a murmur, and the corner of his lips lifted just slightly.

"Speaking of which. Do you know the story of Bathsheba and David?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, but recognition came quickly.

"You mentioned it in one of your sermons." Your voice was softer now, though still carrying a trace of pride. Every word he spoke was impossible to forget.

"Why do you ask?"

He gave a knowing smirk but didn’t answer immediately. He simply twisted the ring once more before finally speaking.

"David was a married man. You know the story, so I’ll keep it brief." He finally let go of the ring, resting his hand against his face. His fingers brushed his temple before sliding down to his chin, as if weighing his next words. "He was a holy man, a man of duty… but he was corrupted."

His gaze met yours, piercing, like he was seeing through layers.

"I want to ask you something. Is that alright?"

You nodded, the corner of your lips curling ever so slightly. "Of course."

He took a deep breath, leaning forward just a little.

"Do you think Bathsheba was guilty or a victim?" His voice was quiet, almost intimate.

Then, he lifted his hand, making a vague gesture in the air before correcting himself.

"No, let me rephrase." His eyes locked onto yours, the tension between you thick, humming beneath the surface. "Do you think David was guilty… or was he the victim of a wicked woman who found no better place to undress than in front of a saint?"

The weight of the question hung between you, dense, charged with something you couldn’t quite name yet.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. An enigma. And you weren’t ready to take any risks just yet.

"I’m not sure I understand your question, Father," you murmured, voice careful, measured. "Could you repeat it?"

"Undress." The command was quiet but firm.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of your clothing.

"What?"

He let out a short sigh, almost amused.

"Oh, drop the act." His voice took on a mocking edge, his eyes sweeping over your face with something that felt like both disdain and fascination. "You can’t fool me the way you fool your parents."

The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders. Your body went rigid for a moment before you shifted, restless, crossing and uncrossing your legs in the chair.

He noticed.

"Undress."

This time, it wasn’t a request.

You took a deep breath as your heart froze. You didn’t know what to expect, this wasn’t supposed to happen, even if it was one of the crazy fantasies you imagined while touching yourself. Swallowing hard, you stood up and grabbed the hem of your sunday dress, awkwardly pulling it over your head and leaving it on the chair.

You were now wearing a bra and panties that indicated that this wasn’t something you expected when you got out of bed. His lips curved slightly, but your gaze remained sharp, gesturing with his head for you to continue.

You nodded, your fingers trembling, getting tangled in the hook of your bra, taking longer than necessary to open it and leave you with the dress.

Charlie was leaning over, as if he was investigating the only piece that covered your body before looking into your eyes. Your fingers curled in the fabric, slowly going down to your ankles, mixing with the other pieces. His eyes slowly rolled down to your panties with the wet bottom, a provocative chuckle coming from his throat.

“Tell me. If I got hard right now, would it be your fault for being naked in my castle or mine for not being able to resist the temptation to fuck you on the bench every time you come with that good girl facade of yours, victim of an intolerant family that ignores your own terms of faith?”

You didn’t answer, nor did you move. You just stood there, feeling the cold wind from the air conditioning touch your breasts, your nipples becoming hard, your arm freezing, your breathing difficult to continue.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Oh, Lord— God in heaven, how can you complicate everything?” He coughed, pushing the chair back to stand up and walk over to you and wrap his fingers around your neck. “Do I have to fuck you so you can answer a simple stupid question that even a fucking child can answer?”

“No, it’s not necessary…” you choked, looking for air as his grip became unbearable, your face turning red as a dry cough left your throat. “Father Charlie—”

“Silence, cunt. Your presence disgusts the house of the Lord. You are not worthy of mercy and you shall perish in hell for your lust.” He growled through his teeth, letting go of your neck, watching you fall to your knees, gasping for air.

“Forgive me, Father.” You begged, trying to stand up. The fire of shame and guilt covered your body like a veil. “Forgive me for I've sin.”

Charlie ran his hand through his hair, which had become disheveled in his haste, taking a deep breath as he softened his gaze and approached you, helping you stand up, holding your face in the same way he had at supper.

“But as the woman herself, you don’t deserve to suffer for my sin.” He pondered, bringing his face inches closer to yours, as if breathing your own breath.

His lips hung over yours and, as if instinctively, your lips parted, exchanging the heat, the smell of wine being shared. He grunted, pulling your lower lip with a small suction, moistening it with his tongue to release it.

“Stand up, child. Your sins are forgiven.” He whispered, pulling away from your face, an emptiness taking over the place. “Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more.”

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 17: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~London Calling~

Morpheus, with Nora and Lucienne beside him, began to walk down the long, skeletal dock that jutted out into the swirling expanse of inky blackness. They stopped about midway, silently gazing out at the Dreaming Waters, its depths echoing with whispers of forgotten fears and unresolved sorrows.

It was Lucienne who finally broke the heavy silence, her brow furrowing slightly. "Where are you off to, sire?"

Morpheus's mental voice, cutting through the stillness, resonated with quiet authority. "London."

"London?" Lucienne interjected, her brow furrowing slightly. "My Lord, did you not just spend the last century there?"

Nora shot Lucienne a sharp look. Excuse you, Lucienne, she thought, a silent warning.

"My apologies, Nora," Lucienne quickly amended, her gaze sweeping between the two of them. "My Lord, my apologies. But, if I may ask, why London?"

"My sand was sold there," Morpheus replied, his voice a low, steady current in their minds. "When I have it back, I will seek out my helm. In Hell."

Nora’s head snapped to him, her eyes wide. What did he just say? The silent question, a sharp jolt of surprise and concern, reverberated through their mental link.

Lucienne hesitated, then took a step closer, her hands clasped. "My Lord, if I may be so bold, grant me a favor. Take a raven with you."

"No more ravens," Morpheus stated, his voice flat.

"If not for you, then at least for me," Lucienne pleaded, her tone earnest. "The raven can go back and forth between realms, keeping me informed."

"No more ravens," Morpheus repeated, his gaze distant, staring out at the inky blackness of the Dreaming Waters. A profound sorrow, like a cold, heavy stone, emanated from him. "Jessamy was the last." He refocused on Lucienne, his expression hardening with a familiar, ancient resolve. "If this Constantine is anything like her ancestor, she will serve him well enough."

He then turned and walked towards the very end of the dock, reaching the precipice of the swirling blackness. He took a step forward, as if to depart. But then he paused, hearing footsteps approaching behind him and turned his head slightly, seeing Nora drawing closer, a determined set to her jaw.

It will be too dangerous, he began to project, the thought forming even as Nora cut him off, her voice a sharp, unyielding blade.

"Oh, no you don't, Sandy. Not a chance in hell. Pun totally not intended. Don't even start with 'too dangerous' or 'I must go alone,' because we've been over this, haven't we? I promised you, Morpheus. Whatever it takes. To rebuild this kingdom? To get your power back? To ease your pain? I said I'd do it. And I meant it. Every. Single. Word."

She stopped before him, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with a defiant fire. After a century trapped in a fishbowl with you, listening to your existential angst and my musings on capybaras in rainbow fur, she thought, a flash of her usual irreverent humor breaking through, do you honestly think I'm going to let you swan off into the 'dangerous' waking world by yourself?

Look, I don't care about the danger. I don't care what you say. You're stuck with me, Morpheus. Get used to it. Her mental voice softened slightly, a hint of genuine affection underpinning her sass. Besides, you need someone to make sure you don't accidentally scare a busker to death with your brooding face, or accidentally cause a traffic jam by simply existing too intensely. Her mental voice continued, Trust me, you need me.

Morpheus stared at her, a myriad of emotions flickering through his ancient eyes – surprise, a hint of exasperated amusement, and something deeper, a quiet, unwilling acceptance. After a long moment, a ghost of a sigh, a mere wisp of air, touched her mind. Very well, Nora, he conceded, his mental voice devoid of argument, a silent acknowledgment of her unwavering will.

He raised a pale hand, performing a small, swirling gesture like casting a spell. The black, still waters of the Dreaming Waters began to stir, parting before them with a soft, whispering sound, revealing a clear path forward. He then extended his hand to her. Nora’s eyes, against her will, were drawn to his elegant fingers. Asshole. Completely, utterly rude. The last thing I need right now is to be thinking about how pretty his hands are, she thought, a spark of frustrated irritation momentarily eclipsing the grim reality of their surroundings. He guided her off the decaying dock, down the ethereal steps that formed in the water, and onto the newly revealed riverbed, a shimmering, dark path that led them into London.

~

Morpheus and Nora appeared at the top of the steps to a large, somewhat imposing chapel, its weathered stone columns looming overhead like ancient sentinels. The night air was cool and damp, carrying the faint, metallic scent of rain that had recently fallen, leaving the ground slightly slick. Nora’s gaze swept across the scene, taking in the gothic arches and stained-glass windows, now dark, unseeing eyes in the dim London night, before her eyes landed on Johanna Constantine. Clad in her signature cream-colored trench coat, its fabric a stark contrast against the gloom, Johanna ascended the steps with an easy, confident stride, her brown hair, brushing just past her shoulders with a slight wave, swaying gently with each step.

As Johanna drew a few steps away from the top, Morpheus’s voice, resonant and ancient, a deep hum in the stillness, called out, “Constantine!”

Johanna paused, her head snapping up. Her sharp, intelligent eyes, the color of a stormy sea, found him, unwavering and direct. “We have business, you and I.”

Johanna tilted her head sideways, a hint of a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Well, well, what have we here? She thought, an inner chuckle. “Who’s asking?” She then took a couple more steps toward Nora, her gaze raking over her with an appraising, saucy glance. Nora’s mind went completely blank. She’d been stared at, scowled at, ignored, but flirted with? This was uncharted territory, a foreign language she didn’t speak. Her heart gave a surprised lurch against her ribs. “Is it you, love?” Johanna purred, a seductive undertone in her voice that was impossible to miss, a challenge laced with flirtation.

Morpheus took a single, decisive step forward, angling his tall, brooding form just enough that it effectively blocked Johanna’s view of Nora, an act of subtle yet undeniable protection. “You have something of mine,” he stated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an unmistakable weight of command, like a stone dropped into still water.

Johanna’s smirk widened, clearly amused by his protective and defensive nature regarding Nora. Figures he’d be the jealous type, she mused, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Get in line, bruv,” she said with a hint of disdain, a casual insolence that seemed to roll off Morpheus like water off a duck’s back. Her eyes drifted back to Nora, doing a quick up-and-down sweep that lingered for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of Nora’s presence, before she sent a quick, knowing wink Nora’s way. With a purposeful step, she briskly walked around Morpheus, her trench coat swirling slightly, and disappeared into the chapel, presumably to begin her work.

Morpheus, his head following Johanna as she walked around them and into the chapel, turned to look at Nora, who was now standing directly behind him. He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, a silent question in his ancient eyes. Nora felt a blush creep up her neck and flood her cheeks, a betraying heat that only intensified her shock. She desperately tried to hide it, her gaze darting anywhere but at him. Okay, calm down, Nora. It was just… a wink. A very intense, flirtatious wink. From a very hot, dangerous woman. Get it together! she frantically told herself. “Alright,” she mumbled, forcing a casual tone, her voice a little too bright. “Let’s go after her. Come on.”

By the time Morpheus and Nora made it inside the chapel, the air was thick with the acrid tang of ozone and sulfur, a palpable sense of struggle clinging to the shadowed arches. Johanna Constantine was already in the throes of an exorcism, her voice a sharp, unwavering incantation that sliced through the growing chaos as she wrestled with a towering demon. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows that seemed to writhe in sympathy with the infernal presence.

The demon stood fully present, much taller than Johanna, with thick red skin and a mane of dreadlock-like hair adorned with glinting golden rings. Short, sharp horns protruded from its head, and its hands ended in wicked claws. Its eyes, wide and glowing, found Morpheus. "Lord Morpheus!" it rasped, a sound of visceral recognition and dawning horror.

"Stop!" Morpheus commanded, his voice a deep, resonant chord that cut through the demonic snarls and Johanna's fervent chanting, momentarily stilling the oppressive atmosphere.

Johanna, mid-incantation, her body taut with exertion, paused. Her head snapped up, her sharp, intelligent eyes widening as she truly registered the ancient, cosmic presence of Dream before her. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath, the two words heavy with the weight of unexpected reality. This wasn't some ordinary, opportunistic charlatan trying to poach her business.

"I almost didn't recognize you," the demon continued, its red skin rippling, regaining a sliver of its usual, sneering arrogance, "without your helm. Where is it?"

"I assume it is in Hell, with whom it was traded," Morpheus replied, his gaze unwavering, fixed on the demon.

The demon's form seemed to writhe more intensely, a desperate, wheedling plea entering its voice. "Stop her! Stop her from sending me back to Hell, and I will tell you where it is!"

Johanna merely scoffed, a dismissive sound, her focus unwavering on her task. Her hand, which had been raised, gripped the crucifix tightly. Even with Morpheus's commanding "Stop!" and the demon's frantic, piercing cry, "Dream of the Endless commands you to stop!", she remained utterly resolute. Her lips peeled back in a sneer that promised no quarter. "Fuck off and run along back to Hell," she snapped, her voice laced with an icy finality. With a powerful surge of contained energy, visible as a faint shimmer around her, she completed the exorcism. The demon shrieked, a sound of raw agony and furious despair, as it was violently ripped downwards through a swirling, fiery maw that abruptly opened in the chapel's ancient stone floor. Then, a profound, echoing quiet descended, swallowing the last vestiges of its torment, leaving only the scent of ozone and stale incense in the air.

Morpheus turned to Johanna, his eyes burning with an intense, cold light. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Johanna smoothed down the damp fabric of her trench coat, a smug, satisfied grin spreading slowly across her face, utterly unperturbed. "I just tripled my fee." She then turned and walked out of the chapel, a definite, almost jaunty hop in her step, a low, triumphant whistle nearly escaping her lips, radiating an almost palpable pride in her work.

Nora, breaking her silence for the first time since entering, let out a short, soft sigh. "Well, shit." She walked up to Morpheus, gently took his pale hand, her fingers a warm anchor, and tugged lightly. "Come on. Let's go outside."

As they emerged from the chapel, the cool London air, damp with the lingering threat of rain, was a welcome contrast to the chapel's oppressive interior. Johanna was already waiting for them, leaning casually against a weather-beaten stone pillar, one ankle crossed over the other. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone flat, impatient.

"A leather pouch filled with sand came into your possession," Morpheus stated, his voice direct, his gaze unwavering. "I require its return."

Johanna raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, that was yours? I couldn't even get the drawstrings open, mate." Her words tripped with a casual insolence that might have frayed the nerves of anyone less ancient.

Morpheus's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin. "You will help me get it back."

Nora cut in, rolling her eyes at Morpheus's lack of tact. "He meant to ask that nicely, with a 'please' on the end," she said, her voice dry, her expression clearly conveying her exasperation with his social graces.

Johanna's smirk softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at Nora, a flicker of genuine appreciation in her sharp eyes. A rare, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Alright," she conceded, her tone surprisingly compliant, her gaze lingering on Nora for a beat before returning to Morpheus. "I'll help him get his sand." She pushed off the pillar. "But I'll do it in the morning."

"No," Morpheus countered immediately, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Johanna, still facing them, her hands now tucked into her trench coat pockets, shrugged. "And I work alone. I don't need you or your friends looking after me."

Morpheus's brow furrowed slightly in confusion by her plural term. He glanced to Nora, who was standing steadfastly beside him, then back to Johanna, seeking clarification. "Is that not your raven?" Johanna asked, her gaze drifting deliberately towards where a raven was perched a few feet away on a low, crumbling wall, its black feathers sleek, hopping nervously from foot to foot.

Morpheus's attention was now entirely on the bird, Johanna completely forgotten. His normally impassive face showed a flicker of something unreadable – surprise, perhaps even a hint of wonder. He took a slow, deliberate step towards the raven, then knelt down, his dark coat fanning out slightly. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice neutral, carefully devoid of any overt emotion, yet holding an undeniable, ancient weight.

The raven ruffled its feathers nervously, its small head cocking. "Matthew," it responded, a little shyly, a surprisingly human quality to its voice.

Nora, her eyes wide with surprise and a sudden warmth, took a step in Matthew's direction, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips. The sight of the little bird, so out of place yet so clearly connected to Morpheus, brought a lightness to the grim situation.

Morpheus slowly stood, his tall form casting a shadow over Matthew. "Go back to The Dreaming," he commanded, his voice firm, echoing with his newly regained authority. "I do not need a minder."

"A-Actually Boss, you do need my help!" Matthew insisted, a flash of urgency in his small, dark eyes as he looked past Morpheus, then frantically flapped a wing in a vague gesture. "She's getting away!"

Indeed, Johanna, having taken full advantage of their profound distraction, had already turned and walked off hurriedly, her trench coat disappearing around the corner of the chapel with remarkable speed. Matthew slumped slightly on the wall, looking down at the ground with an air of long-suffering exasperation. "See?" he muttered, a hint of genuine frustration in his voice, his feathers deflating slightly. "This is why you need a raven."

Morpheus turned to Nora, a silent question in his eyes as to why she hadn't given him warning. Nora merely offered a sheepish grin, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, and held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Oops. I was also distracted by the pretty bird, she thought, the admission a quiet, amused wave through their mental link.

Next Chapter

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

[witchyintention]

Deity Studies: Eris

Lady of Discord, Mirror of Truth, Trickster Muse and Divine Agent of Upheaval

She doesn’t knock. She doesn’t wait for an invitation. She walks into the feast with a golden apple and a grin that says, "Let’s see what shakes loose."

Eris is not here to play nice—and that’s the point. She’s the goddess who stirs the cauldron, the force that reveals hidden fractures by prying them wide open. To some, she’s a villain. To others, a liberator. Either way, she cannot be ignored.

Where Hekate offers torches in the dark, Eris offers a mirror. What you see in it may not be pretty—but it will be true. If you’re ready to court chaos with purpose and a dash of irreverent wisdom, Eris might just be your guide.

Origins & Mythic Roots

Eris hails from the tangled roots of Greek mythology, where she appears in Homer’s Iliad and Hesiod’s Theogony with wildly different vibes.

In Homer, Eris is the goddess of strife on the battlefield. She's a warlike presence who grows stronger as conflict escalates. In Hesiod, though, we meet two Erises: one malicious, sowing pain and war; the other productive, a force that stirs healthy competition and drive. Already, we see her duality—Eris isn’t just about senseless disorder. She’s about the creative and destructive potential of friction.

Her most infamous myth, of course, is the Judgment of Paris. When Eris was excluded from a divine banquet (because who invites the goddess of discord to a party?), she retaliated with a golden apple inscribed “To the Fairest.” That apple sparked a spat between Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite—leading to Paris’s fateful choice and, ultimately, the Trojan War.

The message? Ignore Eris at your peril.

Evolution Over Time

Unlike many Olympian deities, Eris didn’t develop a major cult or widespread worship. She was more of a mythic presence—feared, acknowledged, but rarely invited to the altar. The ancients respected her role in myth but didn’t necessarily want her meddling in their cities.

However, that doesn’t mean she faded away. In later literature and philosophy, Eris became a symbol of necessary disruption. Philosophers like Heraclitus hinted at similar ideas: conflict as the engine of change, strife as the mother of all things.

Then came the 20th century, and with it, a most unexpected revival...

Symbolism & Associations

Eris doesn’t have an official bestiary or defined sacred tools, but her symbolism is potent and sharp:

The Golden Apple: Her calling card. An object of beauty that incites truth-revealing conflict.

Snakes: Sometimes associated with her in modern interpretations, as symbols of upheaval and transformation.

The Mirror: Not a traditional symbol, but apt—Eris reflects hidden desires, motives, and fractures.

Colors: Gold (for the apple), red (for raw energy), and black (for the unknown).

Words and Language: Eris rules the sharp word, the provocative truth, the uncomfortable question.

Eris is not a goddess of tools and trappings. She is an event, a catalyst, an inciting incident incarnate.

Modern Pagan & Occult Views

Enter Discordianism, the tongue-in-cheek (but spiritually resonant) modern religion founded in the 1950s via the Principia Discordia. Here, Eris reigns as a cosmic force of chaos, humor, and paradox.

Discordians view Eris not as malicious, but as liberating—an antidote to authoritarianism, rigidity, and dogma. She embodies the Sacred Chao, the balance of order and disorder, reality and absurdity. In this paradigm, chaos isn’t destruction—it’s creative potential.

Modern witches and magical practitioners outside Discordianism have also begun embracing Eris as a goddess of shadow work, disruption magic, and truth-revealing. She’s invoked in:

Baneful or justice spells to expose hypocrisy or tear down harmful systems.

Shadow work where personal illusions are challenged.

Chaos magic, where Eris serves as a trickster muse.

Eris doesn’t demand worship—she demands awareness. She asks you to stop pretending things are fine when they aren’t. She tears down your inner echo chamber and invites you to look at the rubble.

Pop Culture Presence

Eris makes a few memorable appearances in modern media:

In Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), she’s portrayed as a seductive, chaotic goddess of mischief and manipulation. It’s flashy, if not particularly nuanced.

In Neil Gaiman’s American Gods (though not named directly), figures akin to Eris show up as personifications of cultural upheaval and trickster energies.

In memes and online culture, she’s often used as a symbol of chaos energy, especially among queer and countercultural circles.

The Discordian “fnord,” the golden apple, and the phrase “Hail Eris!” have all become part of internet esoterica and magical humor—half joke, half invocation.

Reflection/Conclusion

Eris is not for the faint of heart. She is not orderly, safe, or soothing. But she is necessary.

In a world that often demands conformity, silence, and surface-level peace, Eris brings the gift of disruption. Not for destruction’s sake, but to clear the way for what’s real. She is the divine “no” that makes room for a deeper “yes.”

Her magic is the sharp word at the right time, the inconvenient truth, the joke that exposes the emperor’s lack of clothes. She is trickster, teacher, and the whisper behind the curtain that says, “Look closer.”

You don’t summon Eris lightly—but if she shows up uninvited (as she often does), it might be time to pay attention. What needs shaking loose? What truth are you avoiding? What systems—internal or external—need to fall?

She doesn’t want your comfort. She wants your clarity.

Personal Experience

Working with Eris—one of the deities I actively honor at my altar—she brings a unique, playful trickster energy into my life. She isn’t the kind of chaotic force that seeks destruction for the sake of it. Instead, her chaos has purpose. It’s intentional, often aimed at revealing truth, shaking loose old patterns, or pushing you toward necessary growth.

When I find myself leaning into mischief or wanting to stir things up, she doesn’t discourage it—in fact, she encourages it with a smirk, like, “Yes, go on then.” Her energy is lighthearted, even mischievous, but never malicious (can be when she's protective). She feels more like a cosmic instigator with a deep understanding of cause and effect.

Eris has taught me how to navigate chaos with grace, like learning to dance through a storm rather than brace against it. She shows me that not all upheaval is bad—sometimes it's the exact thing we need to wake up or realign with our path. Through her, I've learned how to handle the “tower moments” in life without letting them destroy me. Instead of stressing out or falling apart, I’ve learned to flow with the disruption, find the lesson in it, and come out stronger on the other side.

Working with her is an invitation to embrace the unexpected—not with fear, but with curiosity and even a little bit of fun.

Further Reading

Principia Discordia, by Malaclypse the Younger & Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst

Robert Anton Wilson’s Cosmic Trigger series

Heraclitus fragments (for philosophical context on creative strife)

Peter Carroll, Liber Null & Psychonaut (for Chaos Magic theory)

Adrienne Maree Brown, Emergent Strategy (not about Eris directly, but aligned in ethos)

Modern essays on feminist trickster archetypes and shadow goddesses

Hail Eris. May your apples be golden and your chaos meaningful.

[thequeenofneverland1]

Before The Hope Of The Mikaelsons Family Part Two

Summary: In the Mikaelson mansion, tension brews as Klaus struggles with his emotions regarding Hayley’s pregnancy. While Elijah and Rebekah support Hayley, Klaus initially distances himself, grappling with resentment and fear of fatherhood. However, a painful moment prompts Klaus to embrace his role, igniting a bond with his unborn child. As preparations for the baby’s arrival unfold, the family is still unaware of a coven of witches plotting to take the child for their own nefarious purposes. Rebekah and Elijah hope for the family's unity, but with Kol and Freya absent, they face uncertainty. As confrontations unfold and emotions run high, the Mikaelsons prepare for challenges that will test their strength and loyalty, ultimately seeking a brighter future marked by hope and redemption.

Warnings: Emotional distress, Pregnancy-related discomfort and anxiety experienced, themes of personal struggle, including fear of parenthood and familial obligations. Potential violence and from external threats (witches) aimed at the unborn child. Past trauma and hurtful relationships among family members.

The Mikaelson mansion, with its grandeur and timeless elegance, is now overshadowed by the palpable tension that envelops it. Days have passed since the heated confrontation between Klaus and his siblings, and while Elijah and Rebekah are steadfast in their support for Hayley, Klaus remains a brooding, distant figure. His anger and resentment have created a chasm in the family, leaving Hayley isolated in a house that was once a symbol of power and unity.

Hayley, visibly pregnant and increasingly weary, spends most of her days in the sitting room, a quiet sanctuary where she can escape the constant strain of her new reality. The room, with its high ceilings and large windows, offers a serene view of the lush garden, but the tranquility is deceptive. The house, despite its opulence, feels cold and unwelcoming, and the weight of Klaus’s absence is ever-present.

Rebekah, with her characteristic determination, has taken on the role of Hayley’s primary caregiver. She meticulously checks on Hayley’s comfort, ensuring that she has everything she needs. From bringing meals to rearranging cushions and fetching tea, Rebekah’s efforts are sincere, though she can’t hide her frustration with Klaus’s behavior.

Elijah, equally concerned, divides his time between managing the family’s affairs and attending to Hayley’s needs. His presence is a steadying force, and he tries to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the chaos surrounding them. His calm demeanor is a stark contrast to the storm brewing within Klaus, and Elijah often finds himself in the middle, trying to mediate between his brother’s stubbornness and the needs of their family.

Kol, ever the wildcard, flits in and out of the mansion with his usual air of irreverence. His visits are marked by a casual attitude and a lack of concern for the family’s turmoil. True to form, Kol arrives one afternoon with a nonchalant swagger, his casual attire a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere. He flops into a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Still here, are we?” Kol’s tone is light, though there’s a hint of mockery in his voice. “How’s the little one? Kicking up a storm yet?”

Rebekah, who is adjusting Hayley’s cushions, shoots Kol a sharp look. Her patience is wearing thin, and she can barely contain her frustration. “Kol, now is not the time for your games. We’re trying to keep things as calm and normal as possible for Hayley.”

Kol raises an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by her reprimand. “Oh, I’m just checking in. You know, making sure the little drama hasn’t gotten too dull. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss the spectacle of Nik’s inevitable meltdown.”

Elijah, who has been reviewing some documents at the far end of the room, looks up with a sigh. The stress of managing the family’s affairs combined with the weight of their personal issues is beginning to take its toll. “Kol, this is serious. Klaus’s behavior is making things harder for everyone, especially Hayley. We need to focus on supporting her, not fueling the chaos.”

Kol’s gaze shifts to Elijah, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll play nice. But you have to admit, it’s rather amusing watching Klaus squirm.”

Rebekah’s frustration boils over. She stands with her hands on her hips, her voice rising. “You think this is a game? Klaus is being selfish, and his behavior is affecting everyone. Especially Hayley. She’s terrified and isolated, and your little jabs aren’t helping.”

Kol shrugs, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual indifference. “All right, all right. I’ll try to keep my amusement to myself. But you must admit, this family is never short on drama.”

Elijah steps closer, his voice calm but firm. “Kol, we’re asking for your cooperation. This is a difficult time for all of us, and we need to act as a family. Klaus’s behavior might be a challenge, but we have to rise above it for Hayley’s sake.”

Kol’s eyes soften slightly, and he nods, though he still seems a bit detached from the gravity of the situation. “Understood. I’ll make an effort. But don’t expect me to be a saint about it.”

Rebekah returns her attention to Hayley, her expression softening. “How are you feeling today, Hayley? Is there anything you need? Anything we can do to make this easier?”

Hayley looks up, her eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “I’m doing all right, Rebekah. Just trying to stay positive. It’s hard with everything that’s happening.”

Elijah moves to sit beside Hayley, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re all here for you. No matter what Klaus does or doesn’t do, you have us. We’ll make sure you’re safe and cared for.”

As the day continues, Kol’s presence fades as quickly as it arrived. He excuses himself with a half-hearted apology, leaving Elijah and Rebekah to carry on with their efforts. The mansion feels quieter, though the tension remains.

Hayley leans back against the cushions, feeling a mix of relief and melancholy. The support from Elijah and Rebekah is a comfort, but it’s overshadowed by Klaus’s continued absence. She knows that the road ahead will be fraught with challenges, but for now, she finds solace in the small moments of kindness and the hope that things might eventually improve.

The future remains uncertain, and Klaus’s cold demeanor is a constant reminder of the fractures within their family. But with Elijah and Rebekah’s unwavering support, Hayley finds the strength to face each day, hoping that, somehow, they can find a way to bridge the gaps and restore some semblance of unity.

As the days blend into weeks, the mansion’s atmosphere shifts subtly, though the tension remains a constant undercurrent. Klaus continues to distance himself from Hayley, his anger and resentment keeping him isolated. Meanwhile, Elijah and Rebekah work tirelessly to ensure Hayley’s comfort and well-being, their dedication unwavering despite the strain.

Elijah’s presence becomes a source of stability for Hayley. His visits are frequent, and he makes a concerted effort to be there for her in ways that go beyond mere duty. They share quiet conversations, exchange stories, and in those moments, a bond begins to form, a bond that neither of them fully understands but both find increasingly important.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon and the room is bathed in the soft glow of twilight, Hayley sits by the window, reading a book. Elijah enters, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a few light snacks. He sets it down on the table beside her and takes a seat, his eyes scanning her face with a tender expression.

“You seem lost in thought,” he observes gently, his voice soft.

Hayley looks up, her eyes meeting his. “Just trying to distract myself. It’s hard not to think about everything that's happening.”

Elijah nods, understanding. He pours two cups of tea, handing one to Hayley. “It’s been a challenging time for all of us. But you’re not alone, Hayley. We’re here to support you, no matter what.”

As they sip their tea, the conversation flows naturally, shifting from light-hearted topics to deeper, more personal reflections. Elijah finds himself increasingly drawn to Hayley, not just by her strength and resilience but by the way she handles herself with grace despite the difficult circumstances.

Days turn into weeks, and Elijah’s feelings for Hayley deepen. He finds himself looking forward to their conversations, seeking out moments to spend with her. He’s careful not to let his emotions show too overtly, but there’s a warmth in his gaze and a softness in his voice that betray his growing affection.

One afternoon, Rebekah has taken a rare moment for herself, leaving Elijah and Hayley alone. They’re seated in the garden, enjoying the mild weather and the scent of blooming flowers. Hayley rests her hand on her swollen abdomen, her expression reflective.

“You know, Elijah,” she begins, her voice contemplative, “I never thought I’d be here, in this position, so far from where I thought my life was headed.”

Elijah’s gaze is steady, his expression thoughtful. “None of us expected things to turn out this way. But sometimes, life takes us on unexpected paths. It’s how we navigate those paths that defines us.”

Hayley looks at him, her eyes searching his face. “You’ve been so kind to me, Elijah. I don’t know how I would have managed without your support.”

Elijah’s heart swells at her words. He’s been trying to maintain a professional distance, but the sincerity in Hayley’s voice breaks through his resolve. “It’s my pleasure, Hayley. You deserve all the kindness in the world, especially during such a trying time.”

Their conversation continues, and Elijah finds himself opening up more than he ever intended. He shares his thoughts, his fears, and his hopes, and in return, Hayley shares hers. The connection between them deepens, evolving from simple camaraderie into something more profound.

One evening, as they sit together in the dimly lit library, the atmosphere is intimate. Hayley is curled up in a chair, while Elijah sits across from her, reading by the soft light of a lamp. The silence between them is comfortable, and Elijah can’t help but feel a sense of contentment in her presence.

He sets aside his book and looks at Hayley, his voice gentle but tinged with emotion. “Hayley, there’s something I need to tell you. These past weeks have been… transformative for me. I’ve come to realize that my feelings for you have grown beyond mere friendship.”

Hayley’s eyes meet his, and she can see the sincerity in his gaze. “Elijah, I—”

Before she can respond, the sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway, and Rebekah appears, a slight frown on her face. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I was looking for you, Elijah.”

Elijah’s expression changes to one of disappointment, but he quickly regains his composure. “Not at all, Rebekah. We were just finishing up here.”

Rebekah’s eyes flicker between them, sensing the tension in the air but choosing to ignore it for the moment. “I wanted to check on Hayley and see if she needs anything before dinner.”

Hayley smiles, her expression mixed with gratitude and a hint of disappointment. “I’m fine, Rebekah. Thank you.”

Rebekah nods and gives Elijah a meaningful look before leaving the room. Elijah turns back to Hayley, his expression softer than before.

“I guess it’s not the right time,” he says quietly, his voice filled with regret.

Hayley reaches out and places a hand on his. “It’s not that. It’s just… there’s so much going on right now. I need to focus on the baby and everything that’s happening.”

Elijah nods, his heart heavy but understanding. “Of course. We’ll take things one step at a time. I’m here for you, Hayley, no matter what.”

As the evening settles in, the connection between Elijah and Hayley remains unspoken but palpable. The bond they share is a source of solace and strength amidst the chaos, and though their feelings are complicated by the circumstances, they both find comfort in knowing they have each other.

As the days continue to pass, the Mikaelson mansion settles into a semblance of routine, despite the underlying tension. Hayley’s pregnancy progresses, and with it, the atmosphere in the house becomes a delicate balance between the fragile peace maintained by Elijah and Rebekah and the storm brewing with Klaus’s continued resentment.

Unbeknownst to the Mikaelsons, the witches in the French Quarter have been closely monitoring the situation. Their interest in Hayley’s pregnancy is more than mere curiosity. it’s part of a carefully orchestrated plan.

One evening, Sophie Deveraux and her fellow witches gather in a hidden meeting place, away from prying eyes. The room is dimly lit, filled with the scent of burning sage and the soft glow of candlelight. The air is charged with an undercurrent of dark magic, and the witches’ murmurs are laced with anticipation and intrigue.

“We’ve been watching the situation closely,” Sophie begins, her voice low but commanding. “The child Hayley carries is of significant interest to us. It has the potential to tip the balance of power in our favor.”

A witch named Leah, younger and more impulsive, speaks up. “But the Mikaelsons are powerful. If they find out what we’re planning…”

Sophie raises a hand to silence her. “They won’t find out if we do this right. We need to be strategic. The child is not just a pawn; it’s an opportunity. By taking the baby once it’s born, we can leverage it to gain favor and possibly control over the Mikaelsons.”

Another witch, Maria, a more experienced and cautious member of the coven, adds, “And what about Hayley? She’s an ally of the Mikaelsons. If we take the child, she’ll be a liability. We need to consider how to deal with her as well.”

Sophie’s gaze sharpens. “We’ll need to ensure that Hayley is rendered powerless to interfere. It’s crucial that we act quickly and discreetly. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that the Mikaelsons will discover our plans.”

The witches nod in agreement, their expressions a mixture of determination and eagerness. Sophie’s plan is bold and risky, but she’s confident in their ability to execute it. The power and influence they could gain from such a move are too enticing to ignore.

Meanwhile, in the mansion, Hayley is enjoying a rare moment of tranquility. She sits in the garden, a place that has become her sanctuary. The warm sun on her face and the gentle breeze offer a brief respite from the constant strain. Elijah joins her, carrying a tray with a light meal and fresh lemonade.

“You seem more at ease today,” Elijah observes, setting the tray down and taking a seat beside her.

Hayley smiles faintly, her hand resting on her belly. “It’s the little things that help. The garden is peaceful, and it’s moments like these that make everything feel a bit more normal.”

Elijah watches her with a tender gaze, his feelings for her growing stronger with each passing day. “I’m glad you find some comfort here. We’re doing everything we can to make sure you and the baby are safe.”

Hayley nods, her expression thoughtful. “I know. I appreciate everything you and Rebekah have done for me. It means a lot, especially when things feel so uncertain.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the distant sound of footsteps. Rebekah approaches, her face showing a mix of concern and resolve. “Elijah, Hayley, I need to speak with you both for a moment.”

Elijah stands, offering Hayley a supportive smile before following Rebekah to a quieter corner of the garden. Hayley remains seated, her thoughts drifting to the conversation she’d had with Elijah and the growing bond between them.

As Rebekah and Elijah converse in hushed tones, their discussion is focused on the latest developments and their concerns about Klaus’s continued detachment. They’ve been working tirelessly to ensure Hayley’s safety, but with the witches’ plans unknown to them, there’s an added layer of danger that they are not yet aware of.

Sophie and her coven, where they are finalizing their plan. The witches prepare for the next phase of their scheme, confident that their calculated approach will allow them to seize the opportunity when the time comes.

Their conversation concludes, and the witches begin to disperse, each focused on their assigned tasks. Sophie remains behind, her eyes reflecting a cold determination. The plan to take Hayley’s baby is set in motion, and she is resolved to see it through, no matter the cost.

Back in the mansion, the sense of normalcy is only a facade. The impending threat from the witches looms on the horizon, an unseen danger that threatens to disrupt the fragile equilibrium that Elijah and Rebekah have worked so hard to maintain. As Hayley and the Mikaelsons continue their lives, they remain blissfully unaware of the dark forces conspiring against them, waiting for the moment to strike.

The stage is set for a confrontation that will test the limits of their strength, loyalty, and resolve. For now, the mansion continues its uneasy peace, but the shadows are growing longer, and the threat of the witches’ plan casts a dark cloud over the future.

The tension in the mansion is nearly unbearable as days stretch on, and the looming threat from the witches remains unseen by the Mikaelsons. Elijah, growing increasingly frustrated with Klaus’s obstinacy, decides to confront his brother directly. The hope is that by appealing to Klaus’s sense of family and responsibility, he might finally break through the stubborn wall of resentment.

One evening, Elijah finds Klaus in his study, a room filled with artifacts and relics that reflect Klaus’s long history. Klaus is brooding over a glass of wine, the dim light casting shadows across his face. Elijah enters, his expression a mix of determination and weariness.

“Niklaus, we need to talk,” Elijah begins, his voice firm but calm.

Klaus looks up, his eyes narrowing. “What is it now, Elijah? Haven’t you made enough attempts to ‘talk’ with me?”

Elijah takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. “This isn’t just about our family feud or your personal grievances. This is about Hayley and the baby. Your continued hostility is doing nothing but causing more harm.”

Klaus’s face hardens, his eyes flashing with defiance. “You don’t understand, Elijah. I never wanted any of this. I didn’t ask for this child to come into our lives, and I certainly didn’t ask for the complications that have followed.”

Elijah’s frustration is evident, but he keeps his voice steady. “It’s not about what you wanted or didn’t want. It’s about the reality we’re facing now. Hayley is carrying your child. Regardless of how you feel about her, you have a responsibility. Running away from it won’t change anything.”

Klaus stands, his posture rigid and defensive. “Responsibility? You think I’m avoiding my responsibilities? I’m trying to protect what’s left of my family from becoming entangled in this mess. The more we involve ourselves, the more danger we invite.”

Elijah’s patience wears thin, but he tries to stay calm. “And what about Hayley? What about the child? You’re ignoring the fact that your actions. or lack thereof are affecting them deeply. You’re pushing them away, and that’s not helping anyone.”

Klaus’s gaze hardens further, a mixture of anger and resentment surfacing. “You don’t understand what it’s like, Elijah. I’ve been betrayed, hunted, and tormented for centuries. Why should I suddenly care about this child? Why should I pretend that everything’s fine?”

Elijah steps closer, his voice rising with frustration. “Because it’s the right thing to do! We’ve always been a family, despite our flaws. And now, more than ever, we need to come together. If you can’t see that, then you’re losing sight of what truly matters.”

Klaus’s expression falters momentarily, a flicker of vulnerability showing through his anger. But he quickly masks it with a scowl. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you lecture me about what matters. I’ve made my decisions, and I’m not changing them.”

Elijah’s shoulders sag in resignation. He takes a step back, his disappointment evident. “Very well. But don’t expect us to stand by quietly while you refuse to see reason. We will protect Hayley and the baby, with or without your help.”

With that, Elijah turns and leaves the study, the door closing behind him with a definitive click. Klaus remains standing, the weight of Elijah’s words lingering in the air. He stares at the wine in his glass, the reflection of his own frustration and isolation staring back at him.

As Elijah walks away, he feels a deep sense of concern. Klaus’s refusal to acknowledge the importance of their situation is disheartening, but Elijah knows that he cannot give up. The stakes are too high, and the consequences of inaction are too great.

In the quiet of the mansion, the distance between Klaus and the rest of the family feels more pronounced than ever. Elijah and Rebekah are left to navigate the turbulent waters on their own, their efforts to support Hayley and prepare for the challenges ahead made even more difficult by Klaus’s obstinacy.

The threat from the witches remains a looming shadow, and the Mikaelsons must face the reality of their situation. With Klaus unwilling to listen, the burden falls on Elijah and Rebekah to protect Hayley and the unborn child from the dangers that lie ahead, while also trying to mend the rift within their family.

The compound, once a symbol of unity and power, now stands as a battleground of unresolved conflicts and impending threats. And as the days move forward, the challenges facing the Mikaelsons become ever more apparent, with the stakes growing higher and the need for unity more urgent than ever.

The tension within the mansion reaches a new height as the days stretch on, and the challenges of Hayley’s pregnancy continue to weigh heavily on everyone. Klaus’s continued distance and refusal to acknowledge his role in the situation have become a source of increasing frustration for his siblings.

In the midst of this turmoil, Rebekah reaches a breaking point. After Elijah’s failed attempt to reason with Klaus, Rebekah decides to confront her brother herself, hoping that a more personal approach might break through his stubbornness.

One evening, as the house settles into a quiet she finds Klaus in the study, the same room where Elijah had earlier confronted him. Klaus is once again brooding over a glass of wine, his thoughts clearly troubled. Rebekah enters, her expression resolute and her posture firm.

“Klaus, we need to talk,” Rebekah begins, her voice steady but laced with frustration.

Klaus looks up, a trace of irritation crossing his features. “What more is there to discuss, Rebekah? I’ve already made my position clear.”

Rebekah steps closer, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and desperation. “It’s not about what you’ve made clear. It’s about the reality of the situation. That child. your child will be born soon, and you’re acting like it doesn’t matter.”

Klaus’s face hardens, his defenses rising. “I’ve told you, I never wanted this. I never asked for this complication in my life.”

Rebekah’s frustration boils over. “How can you be so callous? That child is yours. You made it. And despite everything, it’s a part of you. How do you think that child will feel knowing that their father doesn’t care about them? That he actively chooses to ignore their existence?”

Klaus’s expression flickers with something guilt, regret, or perhaps a mix of both. But he quickly masks it with a scowl. “I’m protecting the family. I’m protecting everyone from the consequences of this situation.”

Rebekah shakes her head, her voice rising with emotion. “Protecting them? Or are you just afraid to face your own feelings? That child will grow up knowing that their father never loved them, never cared for them. Do you think that’s what’s best for them? To be a reminder of something unwanted and unacknowledged?”

Klaus’s gaze drops to his glass, his knuckles white as he grips it tightly. “You don’t understand, Rebekah. I’ve always had to guard myself, to protect my heart from being hurt. I didn’t want this child to be another source of pain.”

Rebekah’s voice softens, but her determination remains. “Klaus, you can’t protect yourself from everything. Sometimes, you have to face your fears, your emotions. That child deserves to know that they’re loved, even if it’s difficult for you. They deserve to know that their father was willing to make an effort, to show that he cared.”

Klaus’s defenses begin to crumble under Rebekah’s impassioned words. He looks up, his eyes haunted by a mix of fear and regret. “And what if I can’t? What if I’m too afraid to give them what they need?”

Rebekah steps closer, her voice a mixture of compassion and resolve. “Then you need to find a way to overcome that fear. For the sake of the child, for Hayley, and for the sake of the family. We’re all in this together. You can’t just shut yourself off and expect everything to turn out fine.”

Klaus remains silent, his gaze distant as he processes her words. The weight of his responsibilities and fears seems to press down on him, leaving him at a crossroads. Rebekah’s words resonate with him, but the path forward remains unclear.

Rebekah takes a deep breath, her expression softening. “I’m not asking you to change overnight, Klaus. Just… think about what’s truly important. The family, the child, and what kind of person you want to be for them. We all make mistakes, but we also have the chance to make things right.”

With that, Rebekah turns and leaves the study, her heart heavy but hopeful. Klaus remains behind, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the heated conversation that had just taken place. He’s left alone with his thoughts, the echoes of Rebekah’s words reverberating through his mind.

As the night deepens, Klaus contemplates his next steps. The walls he’s built around himself seem to be eroding, and the reality of his situation becomes more pressing. Rebekah’s plea for him to embrace his role as a father and to show love for his child challenges him to confront his own fears and insecurities.

In the quiet of the mansion, the delicate balance of emotions and responsibilities continues to shift. With Rebekah’s heartfelt plea and Elijah’s unwavering support, the hope remains that Klaus will eventually find a way to reconcile his fears and take his place as a father, embracing the challenges and responsibilities that come with it.

The atmosphere in the mansion remains tense and strained as the days continue to pass. Elijah, having already confronted Klaus to little effect, decides to make one last, earnest attempt to reach his brother. He understands that Klaus is stubborn and reluctant, but he believes that there is still a chance to make him see the significance of the situation.

One evening, Elijah finds Klaus alone in the study once more, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a single lamp. Klaus is seated at his desk, papers scattered before him, but his mind seems distant. Elijah approaches, his demeanor resolute yet calm.

“Klaus,” Elijah begins, his voice steady, “I know that you don’t want to talk and that you’re not inclined to listen. But just hear me out.”

Klaus looks up from his desk, a mixture of irritation and curiosity in his eyes. “What more is there to say, Elijah? I’ve made my position clear.”

Elijah steps closer, his expression earnest. “I understand that you’re struggling with this situation. I do. But you need to see the bigger picture. This baby… it’s not just a complication. It’s something more.”

Klaus’s gaze narrows, his skepticism apparent. “And what exactly is it supposed to be? Just another burden to bear?”

Elijah shakes his head, his voice filled with conviction. “No, Klaus. The baby is going to be our hope. Our hope for the future of the Mikaelson family. Despite everything that’s happened, this child represents a new beginning a chance for redemption and unity.”

Klaus’s expression remains guarded, but Elijah can see the flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Hope? Redemption? You can’t be serious.”

Elijah’s tone softens, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. “I am serious. The Mikaelson family has endured countless trials and betrayals. We’ve faced darkness and hardship. But this child… this child could be a symbol of something better. It’s a chance for us to heal, to come together, and to build something new.”

Klaus’s gaze drifts to the window, his expression contemplative. “And you really believe that this child can change everything? That it will somehow fix what’s been broken?”

Elijah nods, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “I do believe it. I believe that this child represents more than just a continuation of our family line. It’s a chance for us to start fresh, to move beyond our past mistakes and create a future where we can find peace and unity.”

Klaus remains silent for a moment, the weight of Elijah’s words settling over him. He’s always been a man driven by his fears and insecurities, but Elijah’s plea resonates with a part of him that’s yearning for something more a chance to mend the broken pieces of his life and his family.

Elijah takes a deep breath, his expression hopeful. “Klaus, I know this is difficult. I know it’s not what you wanted or expected. But sometimes, the greatest challenges bring the greatest opportunities. This child could be our chance to finally find what we’ve all been searching for hope, redemption, and a chance to rebuild.”

Klaus’s expression softens slightly, a hint of the conflict within him visible. “And what if I can’t be what you need me to be? What if I’m too afraid to embrace this?”

Elijah places a hand on Klaus’s shoulder, his voice filled with empathy. “Then you take it one step at a time. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try. For the sake of the child, for Hayley, and for the future of our family.”

Klaus’s gaze meets Elijah’s, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes. The walls he’s built around himself seem to be cracking, and the possibility of change, though daunting, begins to take shape.

Elijah offers a reassuring smile, hoping that Klaus will take the first step towards accepting his role and embracing the hope that the child represents. With that, Elijah turns and leaves the study, giving Klaus the space to process the weight of their conversation.

As the night settles over the mansion, Klaus is left alone with his thoughts, the echoes of Elijah’s words resonating in his mind. The idea of the child as a symbol of hope and redemption challenges his long held beliefs and fears, presenting him with a choice that could define the future of the Mikaelson family.

The mansion, once a place of discord and struggle, now holds the potential for change. The journey ahead is uncertain, but with Elijah’s heartfelt plea and the promise of a new beginning, there’s a glimmer of hope that the family may find a way to heal and unite, starting with the new life that’s about to enter their world.

As the night deepens, Elijah finds Hayley in the garden, her sanctuary amidst the chaos of the mansion. She’s seated on a bench, her hands resting gently on her growing belly. The garden’s tranquility provides a temporary escape from the tumultuous atmosphere inside the house. Elijah approaches, his expression thoughtful.

“Hayley,” Elijah begins softly, “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

Hayley looks up, her expression curious and a bit weary. “What is it, Elijah?”

Elijah takes a seat beside her, his tone earnest. “I’ve been speaking with Klaus, trying to make him see the significance of the situation. I believe that this baby, your child… it’s more than just a new life. It’s a symbol of hope for the Mikaelson family.”

Hayley furrows her brow, clearly puzzled. “Hope? I don’t understand. How can a baby be a symbol of hope for your family? It seems like such a heavy burden to place on a child.”

Elijah nods, understanding her confusion. “It’s not just about the child carrying a burden. It’s about what this child represents. For us, the Mikaelsons, this baby is a chance for a new beginning. a chance to mend old wounds and find a path towards redemption.”

Hayley’s eyes search Elijah’s face, trying to grasp the full meaning of his words. “But what if Klaus doesn’t see it that way? What if he never comes around?”

Elijah’s expression is a mix of determination and concern. “I’m hopeful that he will. We’ve faced so much darkness and strife. This child could be the catalyst for change, a way for us to come together as a family and start anew. It’s a chance for us to rebuild and find a way forward.”

Hayley remains silent for a moment, processing Elijah’s words. The idea of the baby being a beacon of hope is both daunting and comforting. “I want to believe that. I really do. But right now, it feels like everything is falling apart.”

Elijah places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It may seem that way now, but sometimes the greatest changes come from the most difficult circumstances. We have to hold on to hope, even when it’s hard to see.”

As their conversation continues, the scene shifts to the French Quarter, where the witches are gathered once again in their hidden meeting place. The air is thick with the scent of burning herbs and the murmur of incantations. Sophie Deveraux and her coven are deep in discussion, their focus on the impending birth of Hayley’s child.

“We’ve observed that the Mikaelsons are placing great importance on this child,” Sophie says, her tone contemplative. “They see it as their hope for redemption and a new beginning.”

Leah, one of the younger witches, looks up with curiosity. “Does this change our plans?”

Sophie shakes her head, her expression determined. “No. If anything, it makes our actions even more crucial. The more they invest in this child, the more devastating it will be for them when we take it from them.”

Maria, an experienced witch, adds, “And what about Hayley? She’s already vulnerable. If we remove the child, we’ll need to be prepared for her reaction.”

Sophie’s gaze sharpens with resolve. “We’ll handle Hayley as needed. Our primary goal is to ensure that the Mikaelsons are thrown into chaos. By taking the child, we’ll not only gain leverage but also demonstrate our power. The Mikaelsons have always underestimated us. This is our chance to show them what we’re capable of.”

The witches nod in agreement, their faces set with determination. The plan to take the child remains firmly in place, with the goal of exploiting the family’s emotional investment in the baby.

As the meeting concludes, the witches disperse, each focused on their part of the scheme. Sophie remains behind, her thoughts centered on the impending birth and the potential impact of their actions.

Back in the mansion, Elijah and Hayley’s conversation comes to a close, leaving Hayley with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The promise of a new beginning is tempered by the reality of the challenges they face. As she prepares to return inside, her thoughts are heavy with the uncertainty of the future.

The stage is set for a dramatic clash between the Mikaelsons and the witches. With the baby representing both hope and vulnerability, the coming days will test the strength and resilience of the family, as they confront the dark forces conspiring against them and navigate the path to redemption and unity.

In the dimly lit room, Hayley sat with a laptop open on her lap, her attention focused on the screen. She typed with a sense of purpose, the glow from the monitor casting a soft light on her face. The atmosphere was calm, punctuated only by the gentle tapping of the keyboard.

Klaus stood a short distance away, his back facing Hayley. He glanced over his shoulder, a subtle smile forming on his lips as he observed her from afar. There was a quiet, almost detached curiosity in his expression, his emotions masked behind a calm exterior.

Hayley paused her typing and looked up, catching Klaus’s reflection in the laptop screen. “I think it’s going to be a girl,” she said, her tone revealing a mix of certainty and hope.

Klaus’s smile remained, but he said nothing in response. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the window, allowing the moment to

Klaus was pacing the grand halls of the compound, his thoughts heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. The usual calm of the estate was disrupted by a sudden sense of urgency that had taken hold of him. As he walked past the lounge, he caught sight of Hayley, who was sitting on a sofa, her face contorted in pain.

“Klaus...” she said weakly as he approached, her hand resting on her abdomen.

Klaus’s heart tightened. He knelt beside her, his usual composure replaced by genuine worry. “What’s happening? Are you in pain?”

Hayley nodded, her face pale. “It’s been getting worse. I didn’t want to worry you, but I can’t seem to make it stop.”

Without hesitation, Klaus stood and called for one of the trusted witches who frequented the compound. “I need you here now,” he instructed, his voice urgent. “Hayley’s in pain, and we need your help.”

The witch arrived promptly, her expression serious as she assessed Hayley’s condition. She began muttering incantations and performing a series of tests, her concentration intense. Klaus stood nearby, his anxiety palpable as he watched her work.

As the minutes ticked by, Klaus’s mind raced. He glanced at Hayley, her pained expression a stark reminder of the life she carried. The weight of his feelings for their unborn child began to settle on him, revealing a depth of emotion he had previously ignored.

When the witch finally looked up, her expression a mix of relief and reassurance, Klaus felt a wave of tension lift. “The child is fine,” she said. “It’s just a bit of stress. Hayley needs to rest.”

Klaus exhaled deeply, the realization hitting him with full force. The fear and relief he felt were more than just concern for Hayley; they were tied to the child she was carrying. He understood now how deeply he cared for this unborn life, a realization that left him both unsettled and enlightened.

As the witch left and Klaus helped Hayley settle more comfortably, he remained by her side. His gaze lingered on her with newfound understanding, the realization of his love for their child settling within him like a revelation. The compound’s grandeur seemed to fade in comparison to the personal, emotional journey he was undergoing.

Ever since that day at the compound, Klaus’s demeanor had subtly changed. The revelation of his deep-seated feelings for his unborn child had transformed his interactions with Hayley. Where he once kept a cautious distance, he now sought moments to connect with her and the baby growing within her.

Each day, Klaus found himself gravitating towards Hayley. He would spend hours in her company, sitting beside her as she rested. His presence, once reserved and distant, became a constant, supportive anchor.

Klaus took to gently placing his hand on Hayley’s belly, feeling the subtle movements of the baby beneath his palm. He would talk softly to the unborn child, his voice carrying a tender warmth. “Hello, little one,” he would say with a rare softness in his tone. “I’m your father. I promise to do everything I can to protect you.”

Hayley watched these moments with a quiet smile, touched by Klaus’s newfound commitment. She could see the change in him. his actions spoke of a love that had blossomed, a bond forming despite the complexities of their past.

Klaus’s care extended beyond words. He would often bring small gifts for the baby, things he thought would be useful or meaningful. He attended to Hayley’s needs with a dedicated attentiveness, ensuring she was comfortable and supported.

In the quiet moments of the evening, Klaus would sit by Hayley’s side, reading to her and the baby from his favorite books. His voice, once cold and commanding, now carried a soothing cadence, creating a comforting environment for both mother and child.

As the days turned into weeks, Klaus’s commitment to his unborn child became more apparent. His once distant, guarded demeanor was replaced with a genuine, nurturing presence. The bond he shared with Hayley and their baby was now a defining part of his life. a new chapter he embraced with an unexpected, heartfelt devotion.

The changes in Klaus did not go unnoticed by his siblings. Elijah and Rebekah had observed Klaus's newfound devotion and were quietly pleased by the transformation. His once aloof demeanor had softened, and the way he interacted with Hayley and the unborn child revealed a depth of feeling they hadn’t seen before.

One evening, as they gathered in the family lounge, Rebekah turned to Elijah, her eyes reflecting both relief and happiness. “Have you noticed that he’s been so different? so much more engaged and caring.”

Elijah nodded, a rare smile touching his lips. “I have noticed. It seems that he’s finally found something that truly matters to him. It’s as if the impending arrival of his child has given him a new purpose.”

Rebekah’s eyes sparkled with warmth. “It’s good to see him like this. The baby will bring a new dynamic to our family. one that we’ve needed.”

Elijah agreed, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think it’s time for Kol and Freya to come back. This child. our niece or nephew. is going to be a beacon of hope for the family. We should let them know.”

Elijah picked up the phone and dialed Kol’s number. After a few rings, Kol’s familiar voice answered. “Elijah, what’s going on?”

“Elijah here. I hope you’re well. I’m calling because there’s news that I believe you need to hear. Klaus has changed remarkably. He’s been deeply involved with Hayley and the baby. It’s clear now that this child will be more than just a new member of our family. This baby is to be the hope for us all.”

Kol’s curiosity piqued. “The hope? Explain.”

“Our family has faced countless challenges,” Elijah continued. “But with this child, Klaus is finding a new sense of purpose. This baby represents a chance for a new beginning. a chance for healing and unity. It’s important that you come back. We need to come together as a family for this new chapter.”

Kol paused, taking in the weight of Elijah’s words. “I see. I’ll make arrangements to return. This is significant. Thank you for letting me know.”

As the call ended, Elijah turned to Rebekah, his expression resolute. “Kol will be back soon. It’s important that we support Klaus and this child, and ensure that our family remains united through this new beginning.”

Rebekah nodded, her smile broadening. “It’s a hopeful sign, Elijah. We’re on the brink of something new, and it’s about time.”

As Elijah and Rebekah prepared for Kol’s return, the atmosphere within the compound was filled with a renewed sense of hope and anticipation. Klaus’s transformation was a sign of positive change, and the arrival of the baby was seen as a beacon of renewal for the family.

However, hidden from their joyous preparations, a dark plot was brewing. A faction of witches, discontent with the balance of power and fearful of the child’s potential influence, had set their sights on the unborn baby. They believed that the child’s unique heritage and potential for immense power could tip the scales in their favor, and they were determined to seize this opportunity.

The witches, led by a cunning and ambitious figure, gathered in a dimly lit, secretive lair. Their leader spoke with a voice dripping with malevolence. “The child Klaus and Hayley are expecting is not just a new member of their family; it’s a potential key to great power. We must act swiftly and decisively.”

One of the witches, a young woman with a sharp gaze, nodded. “We need to approach this carefully. The child’s protection is formidable, but we have ways of bypassing their defenses.”

As the witches made their plans, Klaus remained unaware of the impending danger. He continued to bond with Hayley and their unborn child, his efforts to prepare for the baby’s arrival growing stronger each day. His attention was solely focused on ensuring that the child would have a safe and loving environment.

Klaus and Elijah were walking through the courtyard of the compound, discussing the final preparations for the baby’s arrival and Kol’s impending return. The air was thick with anticipation, but a lingering tension undercut their conversation. Klaus, despite his newfound dedication, couldn’t shake the feeling that something ominous was on the horizon.

As they rounded a corner, they were met by a figure stepping out of the shadows. a man with a smug smile and a malicious glint in his eyes. He was someone they both recognized, an enemy from their past who had no love for the Mikaelsons.

“Ah, Klaus,” the man drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The great Original Hybrid, about to become a father. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Klaus stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the intruder. Elijah, ever composed, took a step closer to his brother, ready to support him if needed.

The man continued, his smile widening. “I can’t help but feel sorry for the child. Imagine having a father like you, Klaus. A man who has caused nothing but trouble and pain wherever he goes.”

Klaus’s jaw tightened, the man’s words striking a nerve. But before he could respond, the man took a step closer, his tone growing more venomous. “Your child doesn’t stand a chance, not with you as a father. You’ve left a trail of bodies and broken hearts across centuries. what kind of life will your child have, being raised by a monster?”

Elijah’s eyes darkened, but he remained silent, letting Klaus take the lead. He knew his brother well enough to understand that this confrontation would cut deep, yet he trusted Klaus to handle it in his own way.

Klaus stepped forward, his expression cold and dangerous. “You’d do well to watch your tongue,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “You know nothing of what I’ve endured, or what I’ll do to protect my child.”

The man sneered. “Protect? You’ve brought nothing but destruction to everyone around you. What makes you think you’re capable of being a father? Your child is doomed to suffer because of you.”

Klaus felt a surge of anger, but beneath it, there was a sliver of doubt. an echo of his deepest fears. Yet, as he looked at the man before him, Klaus’s resolve hardened. He refused to let this man, or anyone else, dictate his future or undermine his commitment to his child.

With a calmness that belied the storm raging inside him, Klaus replied, “My past may be bloody, but I won’t let it define my future, or my child’s. You can say what you like, but this child will know love and protection. Things I’ve learned to value in ways you’ll never understand.”

The man’s smirk faltered slightly, sensing the steely determination in Klaus’s words. Elijah stepped forward then, his presence a silent but powerful reminder of the family’s unity. “I suggest you leave, before my brother decides to show you just how much he’s changed,” Elijah warned, his voice steady and controlled.

The man hesitated, then took a step back, recognizing the danger he was in. “We’ll see, Klaus. We’ll see if you can really change.” With that, he turned and melted back into the shadows, leaving Klaus and Elijah alone once more.

As the figure disappeared, Elijah looked at Klaus, his expression a mix of concern and support. “You handled that well, brother,” he said softly.

Klaus nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the spot where the man had stood. “I won’t let anyone threaten my family,” he murmured, more to himself than to Elijah. “Not now, not ever.”

Elijah placed a reassuring hand on Klaus’s shoulder. “And you won’t have to. We’re all in this together, Klaus. We’ll protect this child, no matter what.”

Klaus turned to his brother, his expression softening slightly. “Thank you, Elijah,” he said quietly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that.”

With that, the brothers continued their walk, but the encounter lingered in their minds. a reminder that while Klaus had made strides toward change, the world still held those who doubted his capacity for it. And as the days ahead would prove, the challenges to his resolve were far from over.

Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes sat in her office, the quiet of the evening settling around her as she went through the last of the day’s paperwork. Her mind, however, wasn’t on the reports in front of her. Instead, it drifted to thoughts of her daughter, Caroline. Though Caroline was now an adult and carving out her own path, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a longing in her heart—a desire for the days when she had a child to raise and care for.

As the door to her office creaked open, Sheriff Rodriguez, a fellow officer and longtime acquaintance, strolled in with his usual swagger. He leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed Elizabeth’s pensive expression.

“Lost in thought, Liz?” Rodriguez asked, his tone casual yet inquisitive.

Elizabeth looked up, her thoughts momentarily interrupted. “Just thinking about Caroline. She’s all grown up now. I can’t help but miss having a child to raise, someone who still needs me.”

Rodriguez raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’re not the type to get all sentimental, Liz. But I get it. Kids grow up fast, don’t they?”

Elizabeth sighed, leaning back in her chair. “They do. And as proud as I am of Caroline, I miss the days when she was younger. I guess I’m just... feeling a bit nostalgic.”

Rodriguez’s smirk deepened, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. “Well, if it’s another kid you’re looking to raise, I might have a lead for you.”

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. “What are you talking about?”

Rodriguez stepped further into the room, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I’ve heard some interesting gossip around town. Word is, the Original Hybrid Klaus Mikaelson. and a werewolf are expecting a baby.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly, her interest piqued. “Klaus Mikaelson? The same Klaus who’s been wreaking havoc in New Orleans and Mystic Falls? And he’s having a child?”

Rodriguez nodded, his smirk never fading. “That’s right. And you know, with all the trouble he’s caused over the years, some folks are wondering if that baby might end up needing a more... stable environment. Someone with experience raising a child in a complicated world.”

Elizabeth frowned, her thoughts racing. The idea of Klaus Mikaelson being a father was hard to reconcile with the image of the ruthless, dangerous hybrid she knew. But the idea of a vulnerable child being brought into such a turbulent situation stirred something protective within her.

“I don’t know, Rodriguez,” Elizabeth said cautiously. “That’s a dangerous situation. But... if that child ever needed help, I’d want to be there for them.”

Rodriguez shrugged, his smirk turning into a more serious expression. “Just something to think about, Liz. That baby could end up being more important than any of us realize. And if anyone’s got the experience to step in, it’s you.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her mind now fully engaged with the implications of what Rodriguez had suggested. As he left her office, she sat quietly, contemplating the possibility of becoming involved in the life of the unborn child of the most feared supernatural being in Mystic Falls.

The thought was daunting, but also strangely appealing. And though she didn’t yet know how things would unfold, Elizabeth Forbes felt a new sense of purpose stirring within her.

Rebekah and Elijah sat in one of the quieter rooms of the compound, discussing the future with a mix of hope and trepidation. The upcoming arrival of Klaus and Hayley’s baby had brought a new dynamic to their family, and they both felt the weight of the responsibility that lay ahead.

“I’ve been thinking about the baby,” Rebekah said, her voice soft yet thoughtful. “It’s incredible to see Klaus so involved, so caring. I never thought I’d see this side of him.”

Elijah nodded, a fond smile touching his lips. “It’s true. The child has already changed him in ways I didn’t think possible. There’s a vulnerability in him now, a sense of purpose that’s quite remarkable.”

Rebekah leaned back, her expression dreamy. “Do you think it’s going to be a girl? I’ve always imagined Klaus having a daughter. Someone who can bring out the best in him, someone he’d be fiercely protective of.”

Elijah considered her words. “Hayley seems to believe it will be a girl. She has a mother’s intuition, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s right. Regardless, boy or girl, this child will be loved and protected by all of us.”

As they continued their conversation, Hayley was sitting in her room, a laptop on her lap as she browsed through various baby items. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was carrying a daughter, and the thought filled her with a sense of joy and anticipation.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Klaus entering the room. He approached her with his usual grace, a tender smile playing on his lips as he saw the glow in her eyes.

“Klaus,” Hayley said, her voice soft but excited. “I’ve been thinking... I really believe we’re having a girl.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “A girl, you say? And what makes you so certain?”

Hayley placed a hand on her belly, a warm smile spreading across her face. “I just have this feeling. Call it a mother’s intuition, but I’m convinced. Our daughter is going to be strong and beautiful, just like her father.”

Klaus’s expression softened as he sat beside Hayley, placing a hand gently on her belly. “A daughter,” he mused, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and pride. “I suppose I could imagine that. She’d be fierce, undoubtedly. And I’d do everything in my power to protect her.”

Hayley nodded, her eyes shining with affection. “I know you will, Klaus. And she’ll be lucky to have you as her father.”

Klaus looked at her, his smile widening. “And she’ll be lucky to have you as her mother, Hayley. We’ll make sure she has everything she needs, and more.”

As they sat together, imagining the future with their daughter, the bond between them grew stronger. Despite the challenges they had faced, and those yet to come, they felt united in their commitment to the life they were bringing into the world.

Unbeknownst to them, the conversation between Rebekah and Elijah continued nearby, filled with similar hopes and dreams for the baby’s arrival. The Mikaelson family, despite its many trials, was coming together in anticipation of a new beginning. One that promised both challenges and profound joy.

Elijah was in his study, reviewing some old texts as he pondered the future of their family. The atmosphere in the compound had shifted significantly with the impending arrival of Klaus and Hayley’s child, and Elijah was determined to ensure that everything was in place for the new addition. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw it was Kol.

A small smile formed on Elijah’s lips as he answered, “Kol, I’ve been expecting your call. Are you on your way?”

On the other end of the line, Kol’s voice was sharp and laced with bitterness. “Elijah, I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be coming back. Why should I? What’s the point when Klaus still has those daggers and the same penchant for using them on us?”

Elijah’s smile faded, replaced by concern. “Kol, you know that things have changed. Klaus is different now. He’s preparing for the birth of his child, our niece or nephew. This baby is going to be the hope our family needs. the hope you need.”

Kol let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hope? You’re telling me that this child, Klaus’s child, is going to be our salvation? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. I’ve spent centuries watching Klaus tear our family apart, and now you expect me to believe that he’s suddenly a changed man because he’s going to be a father?”

“Kol,” Elijah began, trying to keep his voice calm, “I understand your doubts, but this child is different. Klaus is different. We have a chance to start anew, to be the family we’ve always wanted to be. This child represents a future we’ve never had. a future worth fighting for.”

But Kol wasn’t swayed. “You talk about hope, Elijah, but all I see is the same cycle repeating itself. Klaus may be playing the doting father now, but how long before he reverts to his old ways? How long before one of us ends up with a dagger in our chest again?”

Elijah took a deep breath, knowing that convincing Kol wouldn’t be easy. “Kol, I can’t force you to return, but I ask you to consider this: we’ve all suffered at Klaus’s hands, but we’ve also seen the potential for change in him. This child is a chance for all of us to heal, to rebuild. I believe in that hope, and I believe that you could, too.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Elijah thought Kol might be reconsidering. But then Kol spoke, his tone colder than before. “You’re a fool, Elijah. You’re blinded by your need to see the good in Klaus. I’ve lived through too many of his betrayals to believe that anything will change now. If you want to place your faith in this child, go ahead. But I refuse to be dragged into another one of Klaus’s schemes. I don’t believe in hope, and I certainly don’t believe in him.”

With that, the line went dead. Elijah stared at the phone in his hand, a deep sense of disappointment washing over him. Kol’s words had cut deep, not because Elijah doubted Klaus or the future they were building, but because he knew how much his brother’s cynicism stemmed from the pain they had all endured.

Rebekah entered the room, noticing the troubled expression on Elijah’s face. “What’s wrong, Elijah? Who was that?”

Elijah sighed, setting the phone down. “It was Kol. He’s decided not to return. He doesn’t believe in the hope this child represents. He’s still holding on to the past, to the pain Klaus has caused us.”

Rebekah frowned, her heart sinking. “Kol’s always been the most stubborn of us. But maybe in time, he’ll come around. Maybe once the baby is born, he’ll see that things can be different.”

Elijah nodded, though the weight of Kol’s words lingered. “Perhaps. But for now, we must continue to prepare without him. This child will be our hope, even if Kol doesn’t believe it yet.”

As Rebekah reached out to place a comforting hand on Elijah’s shoulder, they both knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But no matter the obstacles, they were determined to protect their family and the future that rested on the tiny heartbeat growing within Hayley.

Rebekah wandered through the halls of the Mikaelson compound, lost in her thoughts about the recent conversation with Elijah. The anticipation of the baby’s arrival was palpable, and despite the lingering tension with Kol, she felt a sense of hope that had been absent for far too long.

As she passed by one of the rooms, she paused, noticing the door slightly ajar. Curious, she peeked inside and was met with a sight she never expected to see.

Klaus was in the middle of the room, focused intently on his task. The walls were freshly painted a soft, delicate pink, with whimsical princess designs decorating the space. A beautifully crafted crib stood against one wall, and Klaus was carefully assembling what appeared to be a princess castle, its intricate details already taking shape. Nearby, a changing table had been meticulously put together, ready for the arrival of the baby.

For a moment, Rebekah simply watched, a soft smile spreading across her face. It was a rare sight to see Klaus like this. so focused, so invested in something other than power or revenge. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen in centuries, a side she’d almost forgotten existed.

She stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but Klaus sensed her presence and looked up, meeting her gaze.

Rebekah smiled warmly. “So, it’s official then? You and Hayley think it’s going to be a girl.”

Klaus returned her smile, though there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “It would seem so. Hayley is quite convinced, and I find myself hoping she’s right. A daughter... it feels right.”

Rebekah walked over to the crib, running her hand along the smooth wood. “A princess for the Original Hybrid. Who would have thought?” She glanced at Klaus, her smile growing. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. You’ve really outdone yourself here, Nik.”

Klaus chuckled softly, his tone light. “If my daughter is to grow up in this world, she deserves nothing but the best. I intend to give her everything I never had, and more.”

Rebekah nodded, her heart swelling with affection for her brother. “She’ll be lucky to have you as her father. And we’ll all be here to help you, to help her.”

Klaus’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. “This child is a chance for us, Rebekah. A chance to be the family we’ve always wanted to be. I won’t let anything happen to her, or to Hayley.”

Rebekah placed a hand on his arm, offering him a reassuring squeeze. “I know, Nik. And neither will I. We’ll protect her together.”

They stood in the nursery for a moment longer, surrounded by the soft pink walls and the promise of a new beginning. For the first time in centuries, there was a sense of peace in the compound. a sense of hope that things could be different, that the future could hold something more than the pain and conflict that had defined their lives for so long.

As Rebekah left the room, she glanced back at Klaus, who had returned to his work on the princess castle. The sight filled her with a rare sense of optimism. Despite everything they had been through, despite all the challenges that still lay ahead, they were preparing for something beautiful, something worth fighting for.

Later that evening, after her heartwarming encounter with Klaus, Rebekah found herself pacing in her room. The nursery had stirred feelings of family unity and hope, but she knew that two of her siblings were still missing from this crucial time. Kol and Freya. Kol’s refusal to return had already weighed heavily on her, but Freya’s absence felt even more significant. She had always been their protector, their eldest sister who had sacrificed so much for the family. Rebekah knew they needed her now more than ever.

With a determined sigh, Rebekah picked up her phone and dialed Freya’s number. It rang a few times before Freya’s voice came through, calm but guarded.

“Sister,” Freya greeted, her tone neutral. “It’s been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rebekah smiled at the sound of her sister’s voice, though there was an underlying tension in her response. “Freya, it’s good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you. We all have.”

Freya was silent for a moment, and Rebekah could almost hear her hesitation. “I’ve missed you too, Rebekah. But I’m not sure this is the right time for me to return. You know how things are with Klaus… I’m not ready to face him again.”

Rebekah sighed, understanding Freya’s reluctance. “I know Klaus has hurt us in the past, and I won’t pretend that everything is suddenly perfect. But things are different now. He’s changing, Freya. He’s going to be a father, and it’s bringing out a side of him I haven’t seen in centuries.”

Freya’s voice softened, but there was still a note of caution. “I’ve heard about the baby. And I want to believe that it’s making him better, that it’s giving him a reason to be more than just the monster he’s been. But Rebekah, I’ve seen him destroy too much to trust that change will last. I can’t come back just to watch him fall apart again… or worse, take us all down with him.”

Rebekah felt a pang of frustration, but she kept her tone gentle. “Freya, I understand your fears. But this baby is a chance for all of us to heal, to come together as a family. We need you here, not just for the child, but for all of us. You’ve always been the one to hold us together. We can’t do this without you.”

There was another long pause, and Rebekah could sense the internal battle Freya was fighting. “Rebekah… I want to believe you. I want to believe that Klaus can be the father this child needs, the brother we need. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what he might do if things go wrong. I’ve lost too much already.”

Rebekah closed her eyes, wishing she could reach through the phone and hug her sister. “Freya, you’re not alone in this. We’re all afraid in our own ways. But that’s why we need to be together. This child could be the hope we’ve been searching for. Please, come back. We need you.”

Freya’s sigh was heavy with emotion. “I need some time to think, Rebekah. I’m not saying no, but I can’t say yes right now. I just… I need to be sure.”

Rebekah nodded, even though Freya couldn’t see her. “Take the time you need, Freya. But remember, we’re your family. We’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,” Freya said softly. “I’ll be in touch.”

As the call ended, Rebekah felt a mixture of hope and uncertainty. She had planted the seed, but only time would tell if Freya and Kol would find the courage to return. In the meantime, she knew she had to continue supporting Klaus and the others as they prepared for the arrival of the newest member of the Mikaelson family.

[dark-angel-of-muses]

Totally Nailed It

Legend didn’t remember it was his birthday until he came downstairs. Ravio had once again moved all the furniture against the walls without his permission, although he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad considering the displays of gifts and cake that replaced them. He could see all the gifts the Chain left. They were going to celebrate tomorrow. The day of his birthday, Ravio shooed them all out of the house so Legend didn’t have to worry about hosting. 

“Oh, you’re awake Link! Perfect, I was just about done. Are you ready for a Ravio patented Birthday Luxury Retreat?” The merchant wiggled his eyebrows, 

“How much of a retreat is it when we’re not leaving the house?” Legend jabbed.

Ravio waved him away, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The verbage doesn’t matter, just sit down! I wanna start on your first present! Wild taught me this, so I hope I can do it right!” Legend was wary as he sat down. Wild taught him? Wild had a variety of skills, and he really hoped Ravio wasn’t about to burst into some Goron dance performance Wild had taken up from Death Mountain.

“Wild said Gerudo ladies pride themselves on body artistry, and the most delicate of all is..” Ravio left room for a dramatic pause, and his hands popped up with little glass jars of varying colors. “Nail art! Wild taught me a lot of cool designs I can do. I learned how to draw the symbols of your golden three, and Wild actually had a stencil for the Hyrule crest! I can try freehanding something else if that’s what you want, or we can do solid colors. It’s your day, so your wish is my command!” Ravio’s eyes sparkled in excitement. 

A manicure? That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. But if Ravi was going to offer to pamper him, who was he to say no?

“Can you alternate red, green, and blue, with Din, Farore, and Nayru on each color respectively?” It was a complicated request, but Ravio was already nodding in agreement and grinning ear to ear as he set out the colors and took Legend’s hands in his own.

Ravio was adorable as he focused, tongue poking out from his lips as he squinted at Legend’s nails. He wasn’t even anywhere close to the hard part yet, starting with a base coat to prime all the nails.

“Wild said if you go straight for a color coat, it's more likely to chip! He’s fine with that for flat colors because it's easy enough to add another coat, but all the designs should be protected to preserve the effort that went into them!”

Legend already knew proper nail procedure from his time in Hytopia, but it was a special kind of blessing to watch Ravio gush about something excitedly. The merchant would smile wide, showing off the hint of buck teeth as he bounced in place, hands gesticulating wildly as he talked.

As he pulled the brushes from the colored ink bottles, Legend took stock of the products. Based on the fact the glass was completely filled, and the brushes were completely black the first time Ravio dipped them in, these must be all new polishes. From the intricate designs and swirly Gerudo script on the bottles, he can only assume these were luxury products from the heart of Gerudo Town. A gift from Wild, then along with whatever he had left on the table in a blue package. He was going to have to thank the Champion when all this was said and done.

“Is there a reason you picked those goddesses?” Ravio started small talk as he was drawing the symbols in white paint with the smallest brush.

“Oh, there’s a saying about them. Din to give me the strength to challenge the day, Nayru to give me the wisdom to learn from my struggles, and Farore to give me the courage to step forward. Legend wasn’t particularly irreverent of the divine, but the saying wasn’t literally about asking for help. Fable had taught it to him after his first adventure, saying she liked to use it as a phrase of comfort when starting her day. He had just picked up the habit from her. It was a nice routine, something positive to latch onto. He figured it would be nice to have the saying on his nails, as a little reminder.

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Ravio paused between one nail and the next, humming in contemplation. “When our triforce was destroyed, so were the records of the goddesses that made it. Even when you and Zelda wished it back into existence, none of the history or religious practices magically could come back.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you taking some of ours,” Legend offered. “Who knows, maybe the same ones made your triforce originally.”

“Hmm, maybe I will. Lolia knows I could use your Goddess of Courage’s help.” Ravio laughed in self-deprecation, but it was light-hearted enough that Legend knew not to make a big deal out of it. He’d already told Ravio he was courageous enough on his own, and the merchant said he’d do his best to believe it. Legend trusted that to still be true.

“Done!” Ravio finished with a flourish.

“No  you aren’t, you haven’t done a top coat!” Legend couldn’t help himself, looking at the full bottle of glossy finish sitting right next to them.

“Well yeah, ok, but,” Ravio huffed, cheeks puffing up, “I finished all the art. C’mon, take a look!”

Legend rolled his eyes, but did as asked. Ravio’s handiwork was impressive. The symbols were intricate, and difficult enough to draw on a flat surface with a lot of room. Ravio had done an excellent job making the shapes recognizable and clean. They were clearly hand-drawn, each repeat symbol a little different from the previous, but that added to their charm. It was clearly a work of love.

Careful not to move his hand too much for fear of the paint running, Legend looked over the patterns. Farore appeared four times, on the pinkie and index finger of both his hands. While that was just a reality from having three goddesses and ten fingers, it felt right. If he hadn’t had Courage, he never would have met all the people he did. Never would have welcomed Ravio into his home, or met the Chain on their whirlwind tour across time and space. 

“Happy Birthday, Link.” 

Legend smiled, sending a silent prayer of thanks.

[tired-truffle]

Something’s Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.4k

Part 9 - You Can Breach Me Any Day

"I am not a creature that was born. l am a fire that was set." - Moss Angel the Undying

Masterlist

The Chantry was not Ash’s favourite building, but there was something to be said for the sturdiness with which it was built. Perfect for blocking out all sounds of revelry and celebration, and exactly the kind of hiding spot a stoic, fun-averse Commander would seek out. 

Walking through the eerily empty hall, Ash pushed all distractions aside in favour of stalking her prey. There was no room for thoughts on how Love had throbbed and pulsated with power as she’d channelled her magic into the gaping, green monstrosity of the Breach.

Pushing open the war room door, memories of the Breach vanished, replaced by an irreverent need to poke and prod at the disgruntled man who stood with his back to her. 

“Yes?” he snapped with no small amount of bite to his tone. One would think that he would be happy at a time like this, their task complete, the world saved. Leaning over the war table, examining the pieces of the Inquisition’s influence, and snapping at anyone who interrupted him was a strange way to celebrate. 

“If now is a bad time I can always return later,” Ash said, her canines sparkling in the low candlelight as she curved her lips into an impish grin. 

Cullen's gaze slowly shifted in her direction, his tired eyes glancing down at her body before he seemed to register their subconscious movement. Leaning against the doorway and popping her hip out, she was pleased she had taken the time to change into her favourite robes. Even if her chest plate covered the plunging neckline, the slits up to her hips cut quite the figure, and it wasn't long before a faint dusting of blush began to colour his cheeks as he realized where his eyes had wandered. 

"Yes, no, I-" the Commander stuttered, his stern demeanour faltering. He forced himself to look away, clearing his throat as stared at a random point on the floor. "You can stay.”

Permission granted, she took a step forward. “I came to see how you were feeling after the weak little mages managed to close the Breach. Does it have your Templar knickers in a twist?”

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh as he turned away from the door, running a hand through his carefully styled hair.

"My 'Templar knickers' are perfectly fine, thank you for asking," he retorted, dry and laced with a hint of sarcasm. Her favourite. Maybe he wasn’t in as sour of a mood as she had originally thought. 

“And the mages?”

"The mages did…better than expected," Cullen conceded. "We successfully closed the Breach, and that's what matters most." He shifted his weight as he regarded her with a weary yet resigned look. “I can't deny that their abilities proved to be quite helpful.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “So you no longer disagree with your Herald’s decision to recruit them?”

Cullen sighed, his expression growing more serious.

"I still have my reservations." He folded his arms over his chest, widening his stance. "Working with so many mages comes with its own set of challenges and dangers."

“You’re right.” Ash waved her hand about in a lazy attempt to imitate magic. “We were just about to organize a blood-magic possession circle, invite some demons to join, would you care to attend?”

"Very funny," Cullen replied dryly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I'm simply trying to be careful," he continued, “I want everyone to be safe, mages included."

“I don’t know what us poor mages would do without our valiant saviour.” Ash placed a hand over her heart, pushing out her bottom lip in a pout.

"I'm serious, possession is no small matter," Cullen retorted, his tone carrying a hint of indignation. 

Little did he realize that Ash was personally familiar with the dangers of possession. “I know,” she said, the sarcasm having been replaced by something softer, sadder, almost. 

Cullen gave a small nod in acknowledgment, the irritated lines of his face smoothing out. 

"I've seen what mages can do when they’re not careful," he admitted quietly, his gaze flickering away from her. "I…I just don't want to see anyone harmed, or worse, possessed by a demon."

“Most people don’t,” Ash said with patient amusement, shoving down the pang in her heart at his casual hatred of possession. It was a normal reaction, she had never met anyone who didn’t think that way, besides Solas and maybe Varric. Yet still, it was just another reminder that they would never be compatible. The minute he learned of her possession she had no doubt that there would be a sword to her throat. 

Cullen let out a weary sigh, his fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the war table behind him. "I have to consider every possibility no matter how unlikely. It is my duty to keep our people safe.”

“Yes, yes, you’re a very serious, very staid Commander,” Ash intoned, stepping forward to close the space between them. Looping her arm through his - and ignoring the startled widening of his eyes - she tugged him towards the exit. “But the Breach has been closed and everyone is celebrating, now is not the time to be locked up and brooding in the war room.”

"I'm not brooding," he grumbled somewhat petulantly, allowing himself to be guided towards the door. "I'm just contemplating."

“Contemplating broodingly.” If he truly didn’t want her to continue pulling him, Ash was well aware that he could easily stop her with just his physical strength alone. While he gave a mild resistance, he allowed himself her to continue, a small, almost undetectable smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Either way that is terribly boring and there is a party outside.”

"I've never been one for parties," he admitted with an exhaustion born of a life spent much too seriously. "They're too loud, chaotic, and people get too…well, drunk."

“You may stand at the edges with the other recluses if you wish, but your men would appreciate seeing you, I’m sure. Their Commander should be at the celebration of all their efforts, right?”

"Very well," he conceded with a sigh. "I'll make an appearance, but I can't promise to stay longer than an hour. There’s still plenty of work to be done even with the closing of the Breach."

“We’ll see.”

They exited the Chantry and stepped out into the cool night air, the sounds of laughter and music and triumphant revelry washing over them. Golden lantern light illuminated the yard where a great bonfire crackled merrily. All around, people were singing and dancing, their faces flushed with joy and ale.

Some strummed lutes while others pounded on drums in a lively rhythm. The smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet scent of embrium that lay stacked in crates off to the side.

Ash scanned the crowd, picking out familiar faces. There was Sera, precariously balanced atop a barrel as she scanned the crowd for a target for her latest prank. Across the way, Dorian lounged elegantly against a wooden pillar, sipping wine while chatting amiably with Vivienne. Bull could be heard booming out a bawdy tavern song in his deep baritone while the Chargers clapped along.

A grimace settled onto the Commander's face, wincing at the sheer volume of the party. Yet he stayed at her side, continuing to allow her to walk him towards the bonfire. 

Ash nudged his side with her elbow. “It’s not so bad.”

Cullen reluctantly nodded, resignation and mild irritation pulling at the lines around his eyes. "It’s not as terrible as I thought it would be. But I still don’t understand the appeal of getting drunk and flailing around to loud music."

Ash shrugged, never one for drunkenness, though she was partial to the flailing. “People like to let loose, ease a little tension sometimes. Of course, there are always other ways to relieve tension. I’m sure you could find someone here willing to help you with that.”

The flush that bloomed across his cheeks rivalled the rich colour of the roaring flames, and it only made Ash’s wolfish grin grow wider.

“I, uh, Maker’s Breath.” He turned his face away from her in a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment.

Ash was feeling merciful and she didn’t let him stew for long. “But if that’s not what you’re looking for, maybe you should join Solas.” She pointed in the direction of the elvhen apostate, leaning casually on a wooden barrel, watching the revelry with quiet contemplation.

Eager to move on from her suggestive comments, he said, "Ah, Solas. He has a certain detachment that I sometimes envy,"

Ash snorted, entirely unladylike but true to her feelings. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

But before they could discuss Solas’s detachment any further, Rae's voice pierced through the revelry, calling out Ash's name. Ash turned, spotting her sister on the outer edges of the dancing circle, her arms waving frantically and a wide grin on her face.

“It seems I’m being called away, maybe I’ll save a dance for you.” Ash winked, realizing belatedly that her arm was still tucked in his, and released him from her grasp.

“Ah, yes, off you go,” he said with a reluctance she found rather curious. Was he upset to see her go or displeased at the idea of having to join her for a dance?

She could examine this later, for now, she made her way through the crowd, dodging drunken partiers as she went. Rae grabbed her hand as soon as she was close, pulling her into the circle of dancers.

"Come on, let's show these Shems how it's done!"

Ash grinned, and with a nod of assent, the musicians picked up the tempo. Ash and Rae began the steps of an old Dalish dance, their bare feet moving nimbly over the gravel and dirt.

They twirled and leapt, blonde hair flying as they lost themselves in the rhythm. No one paid them much mind, too caught up in their own celebrations to judge that of two elves stomping and clapping along to the beat. However, out of the corner of her eye, Ash thought she spotted Cullen watching with an odd little smile. She felt her cheeks grow warm, suddenly self-conscious, but then Rae was grabbing her hands again for the next intricate spin and she forgot all about it.

The dance ended with the sisters back to back, chests heaving from exertion. Rae hugged Ash excitedly, the smell of alcohol wafting from her breath.

“That was fun! But not enough people were watching, we should do it again!”

Ash laughed. "I don’t think a second round will help any." Her gaze flickered to Cullen again, but he had turned away. She shouldn’t have been as disappointed about it as she was. “Besides, I’m sure they have better things to watch, the Keeper never did praise us for our dancing skills.”

Rae nudged her shoulder. "The Keeper never had any praise when I was involved. But there was at least one special someone who watched you specifically. Don't think I didn't notice you making eyes at Commander Cullen."

"What? No!" Ash protested, but she could feel her traitorous blush deepening. Rae cackled gleefully.

Before she could tease Ash further, Dorian appeared beside them, bowing gallantly. "My ladies, I am sorry to interrupt, but Ashvalla, may I have the next dance?"

Ash gave an exaggerated curtsy in return. Rae rolled her eyes, waving her sister off as she launched herself in the direction of Sera, likely to get up to no good.

"Why Dorian, I would be delighted." Ash offered him her hand. "I should warn you though, I don't actually know any of these Sh-uh, non-Dalish dances."

"Not to worry, I shall lead and you simply need to follow," Dorian reassured her with a charming smile. He drew her into the steps of a quick waltz, expertly guiding her through the strange but not entirely difficult footwork.

Ash stumbled a bit at first, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried to mimic Dorian's movements. But she was a quick study, and soon she was moving with semi-gracefulness, trusting Dorian to steer her in the right direction.

"You're a natural, my dear," Dorian said approvingly over the music. "And here I thought southerners had no sense of rhythm."

Ash laughed, the sound bright and loud - too loud, some would say, but over the music, no one batted an eye. "We Dalish prefer our dances more natural. Less restrictive shoes for one thing." She tapped her toes against his fashionable but impractical footwear.

As the music transitioned to a slower waltz, Ash relaxed into the gentle swaying motion. "It’s been a few weeks since you first joined the Inquisition, how are you enjoying it now that you’ve had an in-depth look?" she asked conversationally.

"Oh splendidly," Dorian replied airily. "The cold, damp, and dog smell is growing on me. And the Inquisition's ranks could certainly benefit from my particular expertise."

"Dog smell?"

"I may not have seen any Mabari in Haven, but the smell has a way of…lingering.”

Ash bit back a grin. "Fereldans do love their dogs. I suppose you'll just have to get used to it. I’m partial to cats myself."

She’d spotted Sweetpea a few turns ago, snatching some roasted meat off of a drunk soldier’s plate.

"Ugh, must I?"

Ash tipped her head back as she laughed. They had closed the Breach, and now Rae could be free of her title if she so wished. She deserved a moment of reprieve, to let go fully and enjoy herself. Yet as Dorian led her through the steps of the dance, Ash felt an odd prickling on the back of her neck, like eyes watching her from the shadows. She glanced around but saw nothing amiss among the crowd. Still, she couldn't shake the strange feeling that something wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was just leftover jitters, it had taken a toll on her to close the Breach - a leftover survival instinct not yet ready to let go.

"Is everything alright?" Dorian asked, noticing her distraction.

"Hmm? Oh yes, of course," Ash replied lightly, not wanting to alarm him over what was likely just her imagination. But the sensation persisted, setting her nerves on edge. It reminded her of the uneasy atmosphere in the forest just before a storm, when the air felt charged with danger - a warning that she always heeded.

Anxious to clear her head, Ash made an excuse to Dorian as the dance ended. "Thank you for the lovely dance, but I find my poor feet aching and in need of a rest."

Dorian nodded amiably and she guided him over to Iron Bull, deftly handing the mage off to the boisterous Qunari before he could voice any of the protests that very clearly crossed his face - a sharp indignation that made her giggle.

She slipped through the crowd towards the flowing casks of ale and filled two mugs of mead. Clutching the frothy mugs, Ash scanned the area until she located Cullen standing off to the side, looking handsome as always but slightly uncomfortable amidst the rowdiness. She felt an instinctive pull towards the Commander, and she allowed herself to follow it. If something was off, maybe he’d noticed it too - or better yet, he could put her nerves at ease.

But before she could reach her destination, a familiar figure stepped into her path. Leliana materialized from the shadows like a cat stalking a mouse, her lips curved into a knowing smirk that made Ash's stomach do a little flip.

"Off somewhere?" The Spymaster purred.

Maintaining her composure despite the sudden interruption, Ash said, "Just some refreshments. I thought our dear Commander could use a drink to loosen up a bit."

Leliana's grin widened. "How thoughtful of you. I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture."

"Care to join me?" Ash offered, gesturing with one of the mugs. "I'm sure I could rustle up another drink if you'd like."

Leliana waved a hand dismissively. "No need. I prefer to keep a clear head, especially on nights like these."

Ash took a sip of her mead, resisting the urge to spit the bitter liquid back into the mug. She watched as a group of soldiers attempted a clumsy jig, their laughter echoing across the courtyard.

"It's good to see everyone enjoying themselves," Ash remarked, her eyes still scanning the crowd. "They've earned it after all we've been through."

"Indeed. Though I suspect not everyone is quite as carefree as they appear."

"Oh?" Ash prompted, feigning nonchalance. "And who might you be referring to?"

"Well, our dear Commander for one. He seems rather…distracted tonight, don't you think?"

Ash felt heat creep up her neck, but she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression. "I hadn't noticed," she lied smoothly. "Though she did say that he's not one for parties."

"No, he's not," Leliana agreed. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Ash's face, searching for any crack in her composure. "But I've noticed he seems particularly attentive when you’re around."

Ash's heart skipped a beat, but she refused to give Leliana the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she took another long sip of mead, using it to collect her thoughts.

"Is that so?" Ash finally replied, carefully casual. "Well, I'm sure he's just being polite. After all, he works closely with my sister."

Leliana chuckled, a knowing glint in her eye. "Of course. Though I must say, I've never seen Cullen blush quite so much during a simple work conversation."

Before Ash could formulate a response, Josephine appeared at Leliana's side, her eyes sparkling. "Oh! Are we discussing Ash and the Commander? How thrilling!"

Ash fought the urge to roll her eyes. "There's nothing to discuss. We're colleagues, nothing more."

Josephine's face fell slightly, but her enthusiasm couldn't be dampened for long. "But you would make such a lovely couple! The dashing ex-Templar and the spirited mage, how romantic."

"I'm afraid your imagination is running wild, Ambassador,” Ash insisted. “The Commander and I are far too different to ever be compatible."

Leliana's knowing smirk never faltered. "Sometimes, opposites attract in the most unexpected ways."

Ash let out a melodramatic sigh. "As fascinating as this conversation is, I'm afraid these drinks won't deliver themselves. If you'll excuse me, ladies."

She sidled past them, feeling their amused gazes on her back - along with that ever-present feeling of wrongness that had yet to leave her - as she made her way towards Cullen. Their teasing had only heightened her awareness of the Commander, and she found herself suddenly nervous as she approached. Irritating, she shouldn’t be nervous when it didn’t matter.

“Can I interest you in some rather disgusting mead?” she asked in greeting, her smile just shy of meeting her eyes, the hairs on the nape of her neck prickling. 

He straightened up from his leaning stance against the wall and took the offered cup reluctantly - polite as ever. 

"Ah, mead. Never my favourite, but I will make an exception just this once," he said, hiding his smirk behind a small sip of the drink. “Thank you," he added, somewhat gruff, but a hint of genuine appreciation flashed in his eyes. 

Ash smiled as she too took small sips, barely tasting the foul drink, her gaze darting around. She was just being paranoid, right? It had been a crazy few months since the Conclave, it was only natural that her mind would take time to comprehend that they were safe. 

And yet, she couldn’t let go of her unease. 

"Is something wrong?" Cullen asked, cutting through her thoughts. He observed her closely, concern creasing his forehead as he tried to discern what had her so quiet. 

“I…” She frowned, once again scanning their surroundings, there was nothing but drunken celebration. “I don’t know. Something just…doesn’t feel right.”

His face hardened, his hand clenching around the pommel of his sword, always attached to his hip. He scanned the area, squinting into the distance as if it would reveal the potential threat. 

"What doesn't feel right?" he asked, taking on a more serious tone. "Do you see something out of place, or is it just a feeling?"

Ash sucked her lips between her teeth. “Just a feeling, but I don’t-“

If Solas had interrupted any of her other conversations with the Commander, Ash would have been more than a little irked. But when he strode up to her side, a dark and contemplative look on his face, she felt only relief. “You feel it too, I take it, the disturbance. The Fade is…distressed.” He addressed Ash, his eyes flicking over to the Commander. “Something is coming.”

Cullen’s eyes widened for a moment, so brief she almost missed the flicker of fear. “What sort of disturbance? Demons? A rift?"

“Worse,” Solas said, and as if he had heralded chaos, the warning bells sounded, loud and exactly what Ash had feared.

A scout, his breaths coming in short, urgent gasps, ran up to Cullen’s side. The Commander’s face darkened and his muscles tensed as the scout spoke in hushed tones, too low for Ash to hear. Cullen nodded his understanding, and strode towards where Rae stood on the steps of the Chantry, sparring one last concerned glance at Ash before bellowing, “Forces Approaching! To Arms!”

Haven erupted, like a wave rolling over the ranks, they surged. Soldiers scrambled to take up arms and defensive positions while panicked non-military members fled for shelter. Solas's words echoed in her mind - something was coming, something worse than demons.

Cursing under her breath, Ash pushed through the crowd of people and snatched her staff from where it rested against a casket. Thank the Creators she hadn't taken off her chestplate yet. Moving swiftly, she strode toward the gates. She had to see this threat for herself.

As she reached the palisade, Ash felt her blood turn to ice. Spread out along the winding mountain passes, flickering torchlight glinted off thousands of soldiers marching toward Haven. An entire army had come to destroy them. Terror and fury rising in her chest, she tightened her grip on her staff. Love pulsed once in her chest, a silent offer of the power she could desperately use in such a fight, outnumbered and ambushed. But she couldn’t. Not yet, not when they could still pull through.

Ash joined Rae’s side as they gathered at the gates, watching with apprehension as the lights crept closer, their voices growing louder and footfalls echoing as time began to run out.

“Cullen?” Cassandra prompted.

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force,” he pointed towards them, mouth set in a grim frown, “the bulk is over the mountain.”

Josephine stepped forward and Ash both worried for her out in the open with combat looming so close, but also admired her bravery, for doing her job even in these horrifying circumstances. “Under what banner?” she asked, but Cullen shook his head.

“None.”

“None?” Josephine echoed, though no one had a better answer, nor was there any time. Two harsh bangs pounded against the doors to Haven, red light flickering beneath the wood.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” Came what sounded like the voice of a boy barely turned a man. How in Mythal’s name did a child get out there?

With a glance towards Ash, worry clouding her gaze, Rae strode towards the entry, signalling for gates to be opened.

Ash gripped her staff tightly, ready for danger, as the guards followed Rae’s command. Beyond stood a lone soldier, clad in dark armor that bore no heraldry or insignia. Before anyone could react, the soldier choked and gurgled as a blade burst through his chest in a spray of crimson. As the body crumbled to the ground, it revealed a strange, pale boy holding the bloody dagger.

Ash halted in her tracks, pulling up short to where Rae began conversing with the newcomer, his large-brimmed skull cap flopping as he gesticulated. Love pulsed, her energy pressing on Ash’s ribcage, the bones creaking uncomfortably. She grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm on the centre of her chest in an attempt to calm the spirit. The energy wasn’t distressed, it was calm yet insistent, pulling her towards the boy as though Love recognized him and was eager to see him. 

“Templars?” Cullen barked, jolting her out of Love’s grasp, the boy shying away from him. Ash had never been happy to hear that title before, and that had not changed, even in these dire circumstances. “Is this the order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

The boy’s next words chilled Ash to the bone, ice instinctively rising to her palm. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He turned and pointed towards a cliff edge in the distance. “There.”

Ash followed his outstretched finger, squinting against the smoke and darkness that covered their march, making out two shadowy figures standing atop a rocky outcropping, one at least twice the size of the other. As her eyes adjusted, she held back a gasp. The larger figure was grotesque, his face misshapen and his body seemingly fused with chunks of a red crystalline material. His arms were too long and thin for his body, but his large pauldrons gave his shoulders an unnatural width. He was a monster, there was no doubt about it. She could barely see the smaller man beside him as enemy soldiers raced past them, but he’d held a brutal-looking sword, one that promised death.

She glanced at Cullen and saw the blood drain from his face. "I know that man…but this Elder One…"

Cullen's acquaintance with a person who would willingly associate with someone like that creature was disconcerting. But before she could voice her concerns, the conversation shifted once again.

“He is very angry that you took his mages.” The boy stared into the distance, eyes unfocused.

Rae shook herself, her hands flexing at her sides as she turned to her war commander for guidance. “Cullen!” She used the tone she always did when she was panicking but trying to hide it - a demand to disguise the tremor. “Give me a plan, anything!”

But there was very little for the Commander to give; Haven was not meant for a siege, it was a small village that their base camp had been set up in. The mountains should have protected them, and Leliana’s scouts should have seen the army coming, but it hadn’t, they hadn’t, and now there was nothing left to do but attempt to control the battle. And they would have to use every trick and trap up their sleeves if any of them were to survive the night.

“Mages!” Cullen turned to address their huddled group that waited at the ready. “You have sanction to engage them.” Now was not the best time to express her irritation that Cullen thought the mages needed his permission to defend themselves, so Ash - always mindful - bit her tongue. “That is Samson. He will not make it easy!”

He strode across their ranks. “Inquisition! With the Herald!” he shouted, Rae straightening as he turned and thrust his sword at the sky. “For your lives! For all of us!”

She squared her shoulders and gripped her staff, magic swirling through her fingers. And with a rallying cry, the battle was upon them.

Ash charged forward, magic crackling at her fingertips as the Red Templars charged towards them. At her side, Rae let out a fierce and feral scream of warning, daggers glinting, canines sharp, as she leapt into the fray. The sounds of clashing metal and shouted spells and screams for help were impossible to ignore - and yet they had to, had to focus on the enemy. Or they would all die.

Ash unleashed a barrage of ice, spikes erupting from the ground to impale the charging templars. Beside her, Rae ducked and wove, her blades finding weak points in armour with lethal precision. Further down the snowy hill, Dorian sent lightning raining down to scorch the earth, exploding amid the enemy ranks. His spells sowed havoc, opening gaps for the Inquisition's forces to press through. Solas called on the raw fury of the Fade, conjuring barrier after barrier to block the Red Templar’s attacks.

Cassandra bellowed orders as she bashed through Templar shields, her sword cleaving through armour and bone. Varric's crossbow sang as it loosed bolt after bolt into the tide of red lyrium monsters. The Inquisition gave no ground, standing firm against the onslaught. But they could not hold on forever.

The Templars kept coming, endless waves throwing themselves against Haven's defences. Ash could feel her mana waning as the battle dragged on, but a lyrium potion was shoved in her hand by a young mage and she downed it without a second thought. Beside her, Rae bled from a dozen minor wounds. They had to turn the tide somehow.

Cullen's voice rang out. "Hit the trebuchets! Bury them in snow!"

With the last of her strength, Ash called up a shield of shimmering ice. "Go, I'll cover you!" she shouted to Rae. Her sister sprinted for the nearest siege engine, flanked by Cassandra and Varric. Ash braced herself as a fresh assault crashed against her barrier, the ice fracturing under the blows.

A great groaning creak split the night - the trebuchets had fired. An avalanche of snow boiled down the mountainside, swallowing the advancing horde.

A cheer went up amongst the ranks of the Inquisition, but as Ash lowered her ice barrier, she could feel with resounding dread that they had celebrated too soon.

Like a rift had opened beneath their feet, the ground began to tremble and shake, throwing Ash off balance. She caught herself on her staff, grabbing hold of Rae’s sleeve before she toppled over. Tugging her sister to her side, any words she had wanted to say were drowned out by a deep and primal roar, the air filling with the scent of acrid burning and rotting flesh.

Soldiers and mages alike broke out in a jumble of shouting, screaming their terror as they scrambled to get away. But there was nowhere to go. Swooping low over the village, the massive, archaic form of a…decaying dragon crested over the trees. 

Ash's breath seized in her throat as the dragon descended upon them, its massive wingspan blotting out the night sky. Grotesque flesh hung in tatters from its skeletal frame, bits of sinew and jagged bone exposed beneath rotting hide the colour of clotted blood. Smouldering shadows dripped from its jaws as it parted its maw, unleashing an earsplitting shriek that rattled Ash’s skull. This was a force beyond reckoning, an extinction given form.

The creature reared back as it flew at a breakneck speed, the membranes of its wings spreading wide. A glow emanated from deep within its throat, flames kindling to life behind jagged fangs.

Ash realized two things at once. First, the decaying dragon was only seconds away from where both she and Rae stood beside the trebuchet as it carved a trail of fire and death. Second, they would not have enough time to run or leap out of the way of its attack. 

Ash's heart ached with all the words she wanted to say to Rae, to apologize for her past mistakes and to tell her just how proud she was of her. But the seconds were running out, and Ash could only hope that her actions would convey the depth of her emotions.

Releasing her hold on Rae, Ash gripped her staff with both hands and with all the magic available to her, channelled a blast of pure force against her chest. In the split second before the magic hit Rae, they locked eyes, anguish and betrayal colouring her sister’s face as she realized too late what Ash had planned to do. As Rae flew over the hill and out of harm's way, Ash felt a wave of calm wash over her. She had done the right thing, she had kept Rae safe.

But that didn’t mean that Ash was going to face her death lying down. Barrier spells had never been her forte, sound and detection she could manage, but anything else always eluded her. As the flames licked at her skin, burning through her robes like kindling, heat searing into her exhausted body, Love erupted, her magic pushing into Ash’stoo-latee barrier, a desperate attempt to survive. 

The agony lasted for only a second, but in that second she experienced pain like she never had before. It was like her skin was peeling back from muscle, like her insides were being boiled, her bones charred. She heard her own screams rattle inside her skull, blood-curling and shrieking, and then everything went blissfully, numbingly black. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I know that it's the Archdemon, but since Ash doesn't know that yet I had to describe it in other ways. I apologize for the cliffhanger, but we got some good Cullen time in this chapter :) Poor guy is gonna be so distressed when he sees the girl he likes go up in flames…hehe…unless??

[an-aussie-button-masher]

Fresh New Ideas - Five Games that Thought Outside the Box

   Feeling that creative itch? Want to try something you’ve never seen before? Just when it feels like any given genre has been explored and iterated upon to its limits, some particularly bright developers arrive to shake things up! Whether it’s combining genres in ways you’d never expect or viewing familiar concepts from unorthodox perspectives, these creators twist ordinary ideas into the extraordinary. I’ve gathered a small handful of these games that really thought outside the box, bringing truly original, creative and clever premises to the world. Challenge your expectations and give them a try!

Stray    Behold: a game where you play as a cat. Normally, that’s really all there is to say when it comes to games with this sort of gimmick, but for Stray, it only scratches the surface. BlueTwelve Studio has managed to tell a genuinely fascinating narrative within a hauntingly beautiful world, all from the perspective of this smart little kitty, exploring a post-apocalyptic civilisation inhabited by the robotic caretakers that have inherited the city in humanity’s wake.   Wander around freely, climbing on everything in reach and investigating anything that catches this curious cat’s eye as you unravel the mysteries of the city. Accompanied by a little drone that helps the cat interact with the world, you’ll solve puzzles and navigate tricky platforming, talk with a charming cast of helpful robots, and generally act like a cat by sleeping on random objects or scratching up the furniture while experiencing a truly engaging story.

Killer Frequency    Solve a murder mystery…as a radio show host! A serial killer is on the loose tonight, and the sole surviving cop is out of town - it’s up to you to help your callers evade the psychotic Whistling Man. Answer panicked callers and figure out clues to safely get them out of harm’s way or even guide them through life-or-death scenarios all from your shabby DJ room. Between calls, you’ll rely on hidden hints, researched information and your own memory to piece together the mystery of the Whistling Man throughout this heart-racing night.    You’ll need to pay close attention and be on the ball at all times, because if you get anything wrong, you could get anyone killed: terrified teens, overconfident wannabe vigilantes, innocent people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, or even yourself and your co-host! Alongside excellent voice-acting and some darkly hilarious moments of comedy, Killer Frequency is an intense puzzler that feels like playing through an 80’s slasher film.

Hi-Fi Rush    What do you get when you cross a good old-fashioned action-adventure platformer with a head-banging rhythm game? You get Hi-Fi Rush, the game where everything you see and do is to the beat of the music! Play as Chai, a loser with big dreams who has gotten himself wrapped up in a corporate conspiracy, parkouring through a maze-like campus city as a horde of security robots and ruthless executives hunt him down. A music player embedded in Chai’s heart (that’s probably not supposed to be there) and a magnetic robot arm (intended for cleaning up trash) allow Chai to battle enemies with a scrap-metal guitar against a bumping soundtrack.    The city itself bounces and rumbles to the music, and timing your attacks and moves to the beat will earn you higher scores and make you feel really cool. Become the rockstar Chai’s always dreamed of being in this game with irreverent humour, adrenaline-pumping action, challenging platforming and, of course, an absolute banger of a soundtrack including real songs from the likes of Nine Inch Nails or The Prodigy!

The Pedestrian    Welcome to a small-scale game with some big-brain puzzles! A puzzler with a unique perspective, The Pedestrian has you guide the little stick figure you see on construction signs, warning signs, and so on through a bustling background city. Rearrange signs on the wall like jigsaw pieces to form a path, then help the stick figure navigate the path to grab keys, move items, press buttons and find the exit. Along the way you’ll catch glimpses of beautifully detailed background environments as the city thrives behind the puzzles - you can really feel the effort that went into putting this game together despite the simple premise.   The game is increasingly difficult; some of the later puzzles will really have you scratching your head trying to determine how everything fits together, but it’s incredibly satisfying when it all finally clicks. Finally, a surprise twist on the usual mechanics near the end of the game will turn the whole adventure on its head, tying everything together in one of the most creative puzzle concepts you’ll ever see.

Dredge    On the surface, Dredge seems like just a cozy little fishing game, chugging around in your little boat, catching whatever you can fish up, and returning to port to sell your finds and buy upgrades…but whatever you do, make sure you’re back before nightfall, and beware what you might see in the eerie shadows. Once you start catching some strange, unsettling fish and begin noticing some odd quirks of the area, things get significantly creepier in this eldritch horror story on water: twisted and unnatural wildlife, disturbed townsfolk, weird lights in the darkness, and a mysterious “collector” urging you to search out unusual artifacts alongside your daily fishing.   You could always just stick close to the relative safety of town, but who knows what kind of valuable catches lay just out of reach? Soon you’ll find yourself venturing far beyond in search of more interesting waters, but be careful what you fish for - something’s under there, and it’s looking for you.

   So, did any of these fresh new ideas stand out to you? Have you played any other particularly unique games with their own original concepts that might fit this list? Let me know! Feedback, reblogs and likes are all much appreciated!   Thanks for reading!

An Aussie Button-Masher

[imaginefinneganswake]

Sod's brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save!

Finnegan's Wake - James Joyce

ChatGPT4o critical interpretations (Created ChatGPT):

The line "Sod's brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save!" from Finnegans Wake is quintessential Joyce—densely packed with meaning, punning language, and echoes of myth, religion, and the human condition. This line, though short, holds a complex interplay of themes, including existential dread, religious supplication, and the sacred versus profane. Let’s break down its components and explore some of the critical interpretations that scholars and readers have applied to it.

1. "Sod's Brood" – Human Condition and Earthliness

The phrase "Sod's brood" carries a multitude of meanings:

"Sod" refers to the earth or soil, grounding this expression in the earthly, the mortal, and the material world. It suggests that we are all children of the earth, born from it and destined to return to it upon death—recalling the biblical phrase, "from dust you are and to dust you shall return." This image of humankind as a product of the earth is a reflection of our mortality and the inevitability of death, a key theme throughout Finnegans Wake.

But "Sod" is also an Irish colloquialism, often carrying a slightly pejorative or irreverent tone. It can be used to refer to an unfortunate person, a "poor sod." This adds a layer of fatalism and perhaps even sarcasm, as though the speaker is acknowledging the grim fate of humanity with a hint of dark humor.

"Brood" typically means offspring or progeny, which, in this context, evokes the idea of humanity as the offspring of the earth. It underscores the connection between human life and the earth, suggesting that humanity is fated to struggle in a world of physical existence, death, and decay.

Thus, "Sod's brood" can be interpreted as a recognition of the mortal condition: humanity, born from the earth, is bound to the cycles of life and death, a "brood" of beings who cannot escape their earthly fate.

2. "Be me fear!" – Existential Dread

The exclamation "Be me fear!" can be understood in several ways, playing off the sounds of fear and fare (or even fair), and reflecting multiple dimensions of human anxiety and uncertainty.

"Be me fear" can be read as an expression of existential dread—the speaker acknowledging fear in the face of mortality and the burdens of being part of "Sod's brood." There's a sense of fatalism in this line, as if the speaker is confronting the inevitability of fear as part of the human condition.

Alternatively, "Be me fear" could carry the sense of a plea or supplication: “May my fear be real, tangible, or justified.” This suggests an uncertainty about life’s meaning or one’s own position within the grand narrative of existence, reflecting the broader themes of uncertainty and confusion that permeate Finnegans Wake. The speaker is grappling with the fear of life, death, or even spiritual salvation.

The phrase also puns on "be me fair", evoking the idea of justice or fate—asking life to deal fairly with the speaker, or to offer a just outcome to the existential trials being faced. It echoes a search for fairness or balance in the face of life's challenges, which the speaker may not feel is guaranteed.

3. "Sanglorians, save!" – Religious and Mythological Plea

The cry "Sanglorians, save!" introduces a religious or mythological tone into the passage, drawing on several layers of meaning:

"Sanglorians" appears to blend "sang" (French for "blood") and "gloria" (glory), evoking religious connotations, particularly in Christian contexts. Blood and glory are powerful motifs in Christian theology, where Christ’s blood represents salvation and the glory of God. This phrase could be read as an appeal to some divine or saintly figures (saints of glory, perhaps) to intervene and provide salvation.

The term may also evoke sangreal, or the Holy Grail, which has rich connotations of sacredness, mystery, and redemption. The speaker, being part of "Sod’s brood" and fearing mortality, may be calling on some higher power—associated with the sacred blood of Christ or other mythic saviors—to save them from their fate.

"Save" clearly invokes the idea of salvation. It is both a plea for rescue and a reflection of religious belief systems that promise an escape from earthly suffering. The speaker seems to be calling out to these "Sanglorians" for deliverance from the existential dread and mortal fear expressed earlier in the passage.

"Sanglorians" could also be a reference to a kind of mythical or historical warrior figure—fighters for glory or blood—blurring the lines between saints and soldiers. This double-edged interpretation might suggest that the plea for salvation is not just spiritual but involves a kind of heroic intervention in the speaker’s struggle against the forces of life and death.

4. Sacred vs. Profane: Joyce’s Blurring of the Two Realms

In true Finnegans Wake fashion, this line juxtaposes the sacred and the profane.

The earthy, almost crude language of "Sod's brood" contrasts with the elevated, religious language of "Sanglorians, save!" This reflects one of Joyce’s central themes: the way that the sacred and the profane are deeply intertwined in human experience. The same human beings who are born from the earth ("Sod’s brood") are also capable of reaching out for divine salvation ("Sanglorians, save!").

Joyce consistently breaks down the boundaries between high and low, between the spiritual and the mundane, suggesting that all aspects of life are part of the same cycle. The plea to the Sanglorians represents humanity’s yearning for transcendence, even as the phrase "Sod’s brood" reminds us of our inescapable connection to the material world.

5. The Eternal Struggle of Mortality

This passage, like many in Finnegans Wake, is imbued with the tragicomic sense of the human condition: we are creatures of the earth, bound by fear, but constantly reaching for salvation or redemption. The mixture of irreverence, fear, and religious supplication highlights the absurdity of human existence, where sacred aspirations are always tempered by the inevitability of death and decay.

Joyce’s genius lies in the way he captures this fundamental tension, often with humor and a sense of irony. The cry to the Sanglorians, much like the exclamation "be me fear," encapsulates the simultaneity of hope and despair in the human experience.

Conclusion

"Sod's brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save!" is a densely packed line, typical of Finnegans Wake, blending the sacred with the profane, the mythological with the everyday, and existential dread with a plea for salvation. At its core, the line speaks to the human condition—our inescapable mortality ("Sod’s brood"), our fears in the face of it ("be me fear"), and our desperate, often futile search for divine or heroic intervention ("Sanglorians, save!"). The phrase simultaneously reflects the absurdity and profundity of human life, encapsulating the cyclical and often paradoxical nature of existence.

[iamprchung]

Reposts: Complimentary Mints (1/3)

Reposting the series, both here and on my blog (www.skinnersbriefs.com where there's a bunch of extras and other work). This is roughly between seasons four and six... approximately.

Complimentary Mints (1/3)

Teaser for Part One of "Complimentary Mints"

Caught in the grip of a relentless snowstorm, Scully, Skinner, and Mulder find themselves grounded in Wichita due to diverted flights. The trio, forced into an unexpected layover, faces the added challenge of booking mishaps that leave them sharing a cramped hotel room. The situation takes a humorous turn as Mulder, unable to resist pushing Skinner's buttons, finds himself sharing close quarters with his austere superior. As Mulder's irreverent humor clashes with Skinner's stoicism, Scully can only observe the unfolding dynamics, and amidst the chaos, an unexpected undercurrent emerges—an uncomfortable attraction between Skinner and Scully. The frosty weather outside mirrors the growing tension within, and complimentary mints offer a hint of irony in a situation where the only thing colder than the weather is the brewing dynamic between the agents and their formidable boss. Oh and it's just Thanksgiving...

Complimentary Mints

by P.R. Chung

Seated uncomfortably in a plastic chair, the last available seat in the Salt Lake City airport, FBI agent Fox Mulder shook his head and smiled ruefully thinking again of the absurd events of the past six days. It had all been one big fiasco for the ATF and FBI, an embarrassment for the bureau heads and a study in frustration for the hundreds of agents involved in the unified field operation.

Solomon Sloan's reportedly well-armed militia group had held up in their converted summer camp compound straight through the Thanksgiving holiday. Sloan and his group had kept hundreds of ATF and FBI personnel away from their families, showing just enough firepower being managed throughout the compound to lead everyone into believing the validity of their reported stockpile of extensive weapons.

Perhaps moved by the spirit of the holiday or some need for warmth after the power was cut, Solomon and his group surrendered just in time for nearly everyone to miss dinner with the folks.

Shortly after their surrender it was discovered these were the most ill-prepared fundamentalists the government had ever dealt with. They had maintained a standoff with seven ammunition-less guns relayed between coming and going group members who had been eating little more than condiments from the look of the bare cabinets. It wasn’t going to be a decent holiday for anyone, except perhaps Scully.

At least she had gotten a flight out early, Mulder thought while watching the growing number of zombie travelers mulling around the terminal on the eve of Thanksgiving. She would likely make it home to D.C. just in time for dinner with her mother and the rest of the Scully clan.

"Boarding for Castle Air flight 418 to Dulles is now beginning."

Mulder listened to the announcement, waiting for his seating assignment to be called and watching the stream of people lining up for boarding. There was no use in standing and waiting, he didn't feel like it and besides people-watching from a seat was much easier and entertaining.

Looking around the terminal, Mulder spotted Assistant Director Skinner among the crowd of dazed looking holiday travelers. He was mildly surprised and a bit relieved to see a familiar face. Mulder had been surprised that he hadn’t seen more of the agents that had been part of the field op in the airport.

Mulder observed his superior, noting that while everyone around the man seemed flustered and bewildered, Skinner appeared composed but also looked as tired as Mulder felt.

“No reason to be unfriendly,” Mulder murmured to himself and got up to go greet Skinner.

"Sir." Mulder drew Skinner’s attention, seeing a momentary look of surprise pass over his expression that was replaced by… relief? Was Skinner actually relieved to see him, Mulder amusedly thought of the irony. “Are you on this flight?"

Skinner nodded, "Four eighteen, yes. Are you?"

“By the skin of my teeth.”

Skinner nodded scanning the line of boarding passengers. "I’ll be amazed if the weather holds. Do you know if Agent Scully got a flight out?”

"Yes, she got an early flight."

Skinner nodded, pensive.

"The weather wasn't too bad when she left, she probably made it in time. But I’ll be surprised if we make it to D.C without being diverted," Mulder commented gesturing toward the flight information monitors where flight updates were changing to canceled by the second.

"Diverted where though?” Skinner wondered.

----------- X ----------

"Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the inclement weather we will be landing in Wichita..."

A muddled round of jeers rolled through the cabin of the 737. "Connecting flights to your destinations will be arranged weather permitting..."

Mulder leaned toward the aisle, glancing in the direction of Skinner's seat. The AD was coming down the aisle, his jaw set as he met Mulder's inquisitive gaze. "And we have our answer," he grumbled as he passed Mulder, heading to the lavatory.

In Wichita, mass mayhem filled the airport. Luggage and stranded passengers clogged the terminals, restless screaming children clamored while parents tried to soothe or correct them. Crowded lines from at the ticket counters and phone banks where everyone received the news mirrored by the flight status monitors; all flights were canceled. Everything east of the Mississippi was shut down due to the snowstorm. And to the south ice had all but completely shut down Dallas and even Austin airports. No one would be going anywhere for quite some time.

While Skinner tried to locate rooms for the night, Mulder was on his cell phone to his mother, then Scully. His mother was disappointed and sympathetic to her son, wishing him a safe trip and the promise of a postponed Thanksgiving. But all he got from Scully was the greeting of her answering machine. Figuring she was still with her family he decided not to disturb her by trying her cell phone and went to find out how Skinner was doing.

The A.D. had done well, finding two rooms at a local hotel with an obscure name that promised little more than a bed and shower. At this point in their never-ending journey, which was all either of them needed. The prospect of finding a meal would be next on the list.

Outside, cabs slogged through a slush of snow at the curb, quickly grabbed by desperate travelers. Skinner and Mulder hustled among the crowd, waving for the cabs to no avail until they noticed the one cab sitting at the curb that seemed ignored by or turned away from by every other person.

Both men approached the vehicle, hopeful and eager. Mulder opened the door to speak to the driver and was greeted by a drift of pot smoke and the sound of low based music.

“Where to?” the driver asked, blasé and blurry eyed.

Mulder glanced back at Skinner who winced. Did they risk it? Did they deal with it? Mulder knew they were both too tired to be choosy at this point in the night. “Tanglewood Inn.” Mulder told the driver.

“Motor Lodge.” The cabbie said.

“What?”

“It’s the Tanglewood Motor Lodge.” He explained.

Mulder nodded anxiously, “Okay, motor lodge.”

“Hop in, fellas, I’ll get you there liceity split.”

Mulder looked back at Skinner, both repeating, “liceity split.” How could they turn down such an efficient offer?

During the drive, the driver introduced himself as Fred, the soul employee of the self-owned Local Motion cab company of Wichita, Kansas proper. His passengers also learned about his native American heritage on his father’s side, a range of career changes that led to self-employment, and his lobbying efforts to legalize marijuana.

Peppered among Fred’s unending dialogue were the affably curious questions about what brought Skinner and Mulder to Wichita. Neither of them admitted they were federal agents, but Skinner did request Fred put out his doobie due to his “asthma.” They wouldn’t likely get a contact high or get enough in their system to fail a random drug test, but their clothes were going to smell of the cabby’s odorous recreational use, not to mention the obvious danger his impairment posed while driving.

Miraculously deposited safely in front of the Tanglewood Motor Lodge, Mulder gave the rundown exterior a sweeping glance, remarking, “I don’t know about you, sir, but I have the munchies.”

Skinner just shook his head, wordless, and started into the lobby. The man was holding it together, but Mulder didn’t know just how much more he could handle before he lost his cool. There was quite a laundry list of scaling annoyances, and some of which Mulder was nearly certain he wasn’t aware of but was certain were contributing to Skinner’s lava dome. Mt. Skinner was building toward an eruption.

The lobby presented a shabby atmosphere, adorned with worn-out, threadbare carpeting and a collection of mismatched furniture showing signs of age. Mulder, however, couldn't help but think that it wasn't all bad, as his eyes caught sight of a sign proudly advertising the availability of pay-per-view movies. Despite having experienced worse conditions before, that small detail offered hope that the night might be bearable.

In the corner, a group of people had congregated around a television, their expressions concerned as they watched the weather report. The map displayed on the screen depicted a winter storm engulfing the mid to eastern two-thirds of the United States.

Meanwhile, those not fixated on the television were on their phones, engaged in conversations with airlines or, from snippets of dialogue Mulder caught, calling other hotels and motels in the area.

Amid the commotion, Skinner and Mulder made their way toward the front desk. The night manager appeared overwhelmed by the surge of people seeking to check-in, multitasking with a phone pressed against his ear and shoulder, desperately informing someone that the hotel was fully booked.

As the night manager hung up and turned to greet the agents, Mulder's cell phone rang. Seeing that it was Scully calling, he motioned to Skinner, and waved his phone briefly, saying, “Scully.”

"You got your turkey stuffed and now you're calling to gloat?" Mulder immediately teased as he answered her call.

"Actually not," she announced. "I haven’t made it back. The weather shut everything down and my plane was diverted."

"Ours too."

"Ours?" Scully wondered.

"Yeah, Skinner and I were on the same flight out of Salt Lake. We're checking into a hotel in Wichita right now."

"Wichita? I'm in Wichita."

Mulder grinned. "No way," he said and laughed. "Have you got a place to stay?"

"Yes, this little rundown place called the Tangle Inn."

“Tanglewood Motor Lodge,” he corrected, emphasizing ‘motor lodge’ a laugh.

"You're here?" she asked in disbelief.

"Sir," Mulder drew Skinner’s attention, putting his cell phone away.

"What is it?" he asked, turning just in time to see agent Scully rounding the corner in the hallway. He frowned looking at Mulder.

"Her flight was rerouted here," he explained. “Now it’s a party.”

"Sir," Scully greeted her superior as she walked up to them, appearing less entertained with the situation than Mulder.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said with his customary nod of acknowledgment and sounding jaded.

"Have you gotten your rooms yet?"

"Room," Skinner corrected. "I asked for two to be held on my credit card when I called from the airport, but apparently there was a misunderstanding." Skinner raised his voice as he finished to assure the manager heard him. Scully turned to Mulder grimacing. "A double, right?" he asked the manager firmly.

"Oh, yes," the man assured him and smiled nervously.

"When did you get in?" Mulder asked her.

"About two hours ago. I keep checking on the weather and flights, but it doesn't look like it's going to get any better before it gets worse. Everything's canceled."

Mulder nodded. "I don't think we'll be getting out of here anytime soon."

"They've got pay-per-view, Mulder" Scully said, smiling. "You'll make it."

"All right," Skinner suddenly said from behind them. With the room key gripped in one hand and his carry-on clutched in the other he headed off for the room, leaving Mulder and Scully to trail along in his irritable wake.

Mulder accepted the fact that this stay with Skinner was probably not going to be a pleasant experience. Not only had the man been the co-head of a farcical government operation in the bitter cold of BFE Utah, but he had also now been rerouted into BFE Kansas and was facing an undetermined stay in a low rent hotel.

At least Scully was there, Mulder thankfully thought. Her company would be invaluable during this side-tracking into the ultimate travel nightmare, sharing a room with one’s boss.

Skinner unlocked and opened the door to room 138, started in then stopped abruptly. Mulder stepped around his superior, stopping abruptly as well when seeing the room—and more specifically—very specifically—the bed. The one bed.

Mulder glanced at Skinner who just stood there with frustration tightening every muscle in his face except for his mouth, which had gone sort of slack. This would be interesting, Mulder mused walking the rest of the way in putting his bag down. Was this what sent the man over the edge?

The AD just stood there, forcing Scully to step around him. “Is everything all right—” she broke off, looking at the bed.

"Which side do you want?" Mulder asked with forced innocence as he went to inspect the Magic Fingers machine on the bed stand.

Scully pursed her mouth trying not to smile or worse, laugh. "I thought this was a double room?" she managed to say.

"Double bed," Mulder stated glancing up from the Magic Fingers. "Single room. You know this says it feels like a thousand little fingers caressing your spine?"

Skinner worked his mouth soundlessly a couple of times before he went straight for the phone.

As the AD called the office Mulder picked something up from the pillow. "Complimentary mints," he said turning to Scully, holding it up for her to see. "Place can't be all that bad with this kind of service."

"This is Walter Skinner in room 138," he grumbled into the phone. "I was under the impression this room was a double...

Scully and Mulder exchanged glances; Mulder shrugged one shoulder.

"I… I’d offer to switch, but I only have one bed in my room," she offered, apologetically.

"But we need a double room, not a double bed..." Skinner scornfully informed the person on the other end of the phone line.

"I'm, uh, going to go back to my room now," Scully told them as she backed out the door. "Let you two get settled."

Mulder nodded, popping the mint in his mouth. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked around the confection. Scully shook her head glancing at Skinner with a little grimace.

"You want to grab something in a while, I saw a place across the road?"

"Uh, sure," she answered as Skinner audibly hung up the phone.

"This is it," he announced going to his bag. Opening it he began to rifle through his things. "There's no other rooms available."

Scully was experiencing the growing uneasy feeling that she was about to find herself a buffer zone between these two men. She gave Mulder a cautioning nod of her head before she began to retreat once more. "I'm going now," she announced, backing out the door, shutting it quickly behind herself.

She stood there a second, listening. For what she wasn’t exactly certain, but there was a vague anticipation of… She shook her head. They were grown men; they could figure this out on their own. They didn’t need her mediation.

----------- X ----------

Battling the miserable weather, Mulder and Scully trudged through heavy snow and across the slushy pavement, their clothes, and shoes ill-suited for the conditions. Their travel plans had not included dealing with any of this mess. Their destination, Risky's, a steak and roadhouse establishment, seemed fittingly named after their treacherous journey across the highway. Despite the unfavorable weather and it being the eve of Thanksgiving, the pair were just grateful the place was open.

The place wasn’t exactly packed, but busy and lively enough to create a moderate level of noise. The crack of billiard balls colliding and the friendly banter from a dart game blended with the twang of a country song playing on the jukebox in one corner.

Taking their seats in the center of the dining area, which doubled as the bar, Mulder and Scully paid little attention to the curious gazes they received upon entering the establishment. As they glanced around, both recognized faces from the inn, fellow stranded travelers who seemed cautious, fatigued, and guarded.

A woman in an apron came over from the bar, greeting them as she handed out menus. "Eve’nin'," she said, "how you doin’?"

"Fine, thank you," Scully answered noticing Mulder's gaze fluxing between the menu and a woman seated at the bar.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the waitress asked and pulled a note pad from her apron pocket as if expecting a huge order. Scully found it amusing considering there were only the two of them.

"I'll have a beer," Mulder said, surprising Scully.

"Well, what kind, hon," the waitress asked. "We've got lots of it and all different kinds."

"Heineken."

"Are you sure?" The waitress asked him.

Mulder chuckled. “Pretty sure. Do people send their beer back often around here?”

“You’d be surprised what people do around here.” She said sounding tired and disgusted as she turned to Scully. "What about you?"

"I'll have a root beer."

The waitress shook her head. "Nope, no root beer. It’s either coke or Dr. Pepper."

Scully hesitated, taken aback, then, "Uh’ll have coke then," she decided.

"You two know what you want to eat?"

Mulder also hesitated, looking at Scully, concerned for what kind of response ordering food would bring from the woman. "What's the special?" he asked.

"We've got a six-once steak with two side orders of either confetti rice, corn, mash potatoes, country fries or okra." Mulder grimaced at the last side item which did not go unnoticed by the woman. She paused looking at him scornfully, finishing with, "and Texas toast.”

He looked at her with deliberate seriousness. "Texas toast. We're not in Kansas anymore?" The waitress stared back at him with a barely contained tolerance that reminded him of… “Are you married or dating – and the reason I ask is not based on my interest, but that I think you would get along with a friend of ours.” Mulder told the woman with a brief nod to Scully. “In fact, he’ll be joining us shortly—”

Scully jutted her jaw, looking at him urgently, and mouthing, “stop.”

“I’m married, thank you.” She interrupted him, unamused, and looked at Scully. “Rice?”

"Yes, please." Scully answered.

The woman scribbled on her pad, then shot Mulder a daring glare, "and how ‘bout you, Toto?"

“Yes, thanks.”

As the waitress turned and marched away from the table Scully leaned forward, addressing Mulder. “You know, if our food isn’t tainted after the way you irritated her, I will be amazed.”

“I am not taking responsibility for the food here being tainted.”

 “Mulder,” Scully began, almost pleading, “don’t start pushing buttons when Skinner gets here.”

“What?” He laughed in disbelief.

“You know what I mean.” she declared. “I’m tired—we’re all tired, and… you know what I mean.”

“But then may I ask, what is the purpose of buttons if not to push them, Scully?” he questioned. “Testing human nature— the essential boundaries of the psychological predisposition and acceptance of humor in its purest form – mockery and chiding-- that exposes a level of intellect and comprehension upon which comrade is established and solidifies a quintessential depth of understanding.”

Scully looked back at him, she was too tired for this. “Are you stoned?”

He laughed. “That,” he answered with a defined nod, “is not outside the realm of possibilities.”

“What?” Scully confusedly began to question him and was distracted by Skinner walking up to the table.

"Have you ordered yet?" he wondered taking his coat off.

"Yes, unfortunately," Scully answered.

"Unfortunately?" Skinner questioned the statement as he sat down. "Is there a problem?"

"You'll see," Mulder said seeing the waitress heading back with their drinks.

Noticing a third person now at the table the waitress hesitated an instant before continuing over to them, looking troubled. "One more, huh?" she grumbled, sitting the drinks down hard and pulling out her pad again. "Would you like something to drink?" She asked Skinner.

Anticipating the worst, Scully began toying with the straw in her drink while Mulder just put his forehead in his hand. She knew Skinner wasn’t going to be in any mood for antics, and she anticipated the worst out of Mulder who seemed to be in one of his own moods. Everyone was in a mood.

"What's on tap?" Skinner asked casually, as if he hadn't heard the woman's tone at all.

"Coors Light, Bud, Bud Light-"

"Coors," he answered before she finished.

"I said Coors Light is what we have, do you want a bottle?"

Mulder coughed, lamely disguising his laugh.

Skinner was silent for a second or two as he studied the sour expression on the woman's face, then said firmly, "No. I'll have the light."

"Anything to eat, our special's a six-once steak with the choice of two side orders of either confetti rice, corn, mash potatoes, country fries, or okra," she paused, looking at Mulder. "And Texas toast."

"What's the chance of getting a baked potato?"

"Bad," she flatly answered Skinner.

Mulder and Scully looked at each other, wide eyed.

Skinner took a breath. Mulder and Scully held their breath.

Then, "All right, " Skinner told the waitress, repositioning himself in the chair. "The steak with just the toast."

"Just the toast?"

"Just the toast."

"Just the toast it is," she agreed and turned to walk away.

Silence settled over the table, filled by the sound of the juke box playing and the folks carrying on in the bar. Each of them internally processing the day, the week, and the present. Grateful that they had found a place that was open late on Thanksgiving Eve, but the unspoken question still stood as for where in the days to come they would be.

Mulder gave thought to an insightful commentary their current situation but decided to take a draw on his hard-won beer instead and check out the woman at the bar once again. Scully stirred the ice around in her drink, praying for peace and tranquility in the unforeseeable future, be it the next few minutes, hours, or days. As for Skinner, his equanimity was at premium.

Their meals were, after the problematic interaction with the waitress, served hot and consumable. Although, Scully did give her food a modicum of extra attention before digging in after Mulder’s taunting of the underserving waitress. When all was said and done, they shared companionable moments of small talk about the weather and their chances of getting a flight back to D.C., and eventually, it was agreed that their meals weren't, as Skinner had appropriately stated, "anything to write home about.”

Scully agreed, but Mulder had wolfed his food down too quickly to have noticed the lackluster quality of the cuisine, besides, he'd been preoccupied by the glances the young woman at the bar had started throwing his way. She couldn't have been alone, he had thought. Not the way she looked. She wasn't stunning, but she wasn't plain either. Dressed casually in sweater and slacks, with dark short hair and huge brown eyes cradled in generous lashes, she had a striking air about her.

Mulder had surveyed the bar and saw no one who seemed to be with her. She was seated next to two trucker types, but they were apparently too deeply involved in their own conversation to have noticed the lovely lady seated near them.

"I think I'd like another soda," Scully commented glancing around for the testy waitress. "If she ever comes back around..."

Mulder heard opportunity knocking and jumped for it. "I'll take care of it," he said standing. "Would you like another beer, sir?" he asked Skinner.

Skinner started to say no, he wanted to go back to the room and just forget the whole day- the last six of them. But then thinking of the last six days... "Yes," he answered, then changed his mind, "no, a bourbon."

Mulder headed to the bar as the jukebox began choking out another country song.

*"There was a time, I could drink my fears away,

drown out all the heartaches that hurt me night and day..."*

Silence fell over the table. Scully toyed with the straw in her empty glass, glancing at the AD who seemed to be studying the place in a discriminating fashion, his gaze returning to the dart game.

"Do you play?" Scully asked him.

He looked at her, as if taken off guard by her observing him. "I used to," he said and looked toward the bar. Mulder had saddled up there next to the young woman he'd been watching through dinner. So much for those drinks, he thought off handily.

"I threw darts a few times in college," Scully offered conversationally. "I think almost anyone who's stepped inside a typical college bar has."

*"They knew my name at every bar in town,

and they knew all of the reasons why I was coming 'round..."*

“That sounds about right," Skinner responded to Scully, sounding distracted.

She turned to see what he was looking at, finding Mulder talking to the young woman he'd been surreptitiously ogling all through dinner. So much for the drinks, she thought and started to turn back and inadvertently locked gazes with a grizzled looking man at the end of the bar, who grinned dumbly back at her. She closed her eyes, turning the rest of the way back to the table before opening them again to see their waitress had returned.

"You folks want another round?" she asked, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to her, which likely accounted for her sounding more pleasant than she had the entire night.

"Uh," both said in unison glancing toward the bar.

"No, not for me," Skinner finally said, and was handing the woman a credit card. “Everything at the table goes on this,” he instructed, carefully adding, “but not the bar.”

"How about you, hon?" the waitress asked Scully.

She hesitated, looking between Mulder and the grizzled man still smiling at her from the bar, then at Skinner who was pulling his wallet out. She wanted to go also, and although she felt uncomfortable about leaving Mulder here, she knew she could take care of himself. Plus, she'd just be a hindrance to his current endeavor at the bar if she did stay. "No, thank you," she decided.

While they waited, plans were put in order. “We’ll let Mulder know we’re leaving,” Skinner said.

Scully made a silent face, glancing toward the bar that Skinner noticed. He considered the reaction a second, glancing at Mulder chatting and laughing with the woman at the bar. “On second thought,” he said, “I’ll let him know now, you wait on the check and my credit card.”

“Yes,” Scully almost too quickly agreed to this decision. “I’ll… I’ll wait for the check, sir.”

Skinner made his way into the bar, approaching Mulder from behind, seeing the young woman lightly laughing and patted his arm. Skinner stepped up to them catching Mulder’s attention. He nodded to the woman in brief apology before he addressed Mulder, “We’re headed out. Dinner is on the bureau card.”

“Sir, thank you. Are your sure you and Scully won’t join me and…” he looked at the young woman, “ah, Wendy, right?” She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, okay, Wendy this is Walter Skinner – excuse me, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.”

“Oh wow, so nice to meet you, Walter.” Wendy said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Fox told me about everything you all have been through trying to travel in this weather, and I’m so sorry. You should join us and try to relax some.”

“Thank you, no, it has been a long day. I will be relaxing at the hotel.”

Mulder wasn’t paying attention to his superior and Wendy, and instead was looking around the bar and then toward the restaurant, asking Skinner, “where is Scully?”

“She’s waiting for the check.” Skinner informed him.

“All right… all right.” Mulder murmured, seeing her across the room talking with the waitress at the table.

“Mulder,” Skinner caught his attention again, “don’t stay too long, could be an early day tomorrow.”

“Understood, sir.”

----------- X ----------

Scully awoke to the sound of a television playing somewhere nearby. Groggily she glanced toward the television set in her room seeing it wasn't on, then was confused she could see it, and realized the lights were still on. She had to think for an instant about where she was. Sitting up she felt thirsty, and cold. The heat was on but in her state of undress it wasn't making much of a difference in the drafty room. Even if she'd been willing to wear her overly worn pajamas to bed, she didn't think they would have made much of a difference. Looking at the garments lying beside her travel bag she considered wearing them despite having worn them for the past six days without the opportunity to wash them once.

Still opposed to the idea, she got out of bed and went to the bathroom where she drank three glasses of water before she realized plain old water just wasn't going to do the trick.

There was a vending room just on the other side of the lobby, she remembered while looking at herself in the mirror. Leaving her room just for a drink didn't seem worth the trouble of dressing and undressing. She glanced at the reflection of her coat hanging in the closet alcove and she thought how easy it would be to just throw it on, hurry there and back. But how lazy could a person get...?

To hell with it, she decided and took the robe off. It was late and she was tired and thirsty, she justified pulling the coat on, the sheer lining chilling her bare skin.

Getting the stubborn room door open she hurried for the vending room. Coming down the hallway toward the lobby she noticed a man in a t-shirt and sweats asleep on the tacky vinyl sofa, his feet propped up on the imitation wood grain coffee table. Reaching the lobby, she realized it was AD Skinner.

She hesitated, wondering why he was here and not in the room. Judging by the magazine open across his lap he'd fallen asleep reading, but still why out here? This was undoubtedly to do with sharing the room with Mulder. Had he been pestering Skinner like she'd suspected he might? She wondered then began wrestling with whether to wake him. He couldn't be very comfortable or warm out here in this drafty lobby, she knew she wasn't. Every little chilly draft kept finding its way up under her coat.

"Sir," she gently said, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, taking the magazine from his lap. The motion of the magazine seemed to rouse him more than her words, startling him. He looked at her, then around the lobby a bit confused. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said quietly.

He straightened up on the sofa, "what time is it?"

"After midnight," she answered, hesitating before she ventured where he wouldn't, "why are you out here?"

He looked at her. "I felt like taking a walk," he answered vaguely, sounding aggravated by the question, or more so having to answer such a question. "Why are you out here?" he countered.

"I was going to get a soda," she said glancing in the direction of the vending room.

Skinner stood and stretched a bit. "I'll go with you."

“Oh,” Scully reacted, not expecting that. “All... right.” She agreed, gathering her coat a bit tighter.

The pair headed to the vending room, where Scully quickly made her selection, finally getting the root beer she’d been craving, and followed Skinner out of the drafty room. She impatiently popped the top on the can just as the heavy door nearly hit her as it swung shut behind her. She was just about to take a sip from the can when she was suddenly pulled awkwardly backward. Looking back, she realized she was caught, the door was shut on the tail of her coat.

She turned as best she could, trying to pull free, then to open the door that was quite solidly jammed. She looked around seeing that Skinner had already started down the hall without her. She pulled on the coat, and tried the door again, and the all the while a certain undefined level of horror was beginning to build within her about this situation. Did she call him back to help, did she let him go, and hope that he totally forgot about her, and some stranger would thankfully come along to hel—

“Agent Scully?” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice at her side. “Is there a problem?”

"Uh," she laughed, embarrassed, "my coat's caught in the door."

“What?”

“I’m stuck,” she explained.

Reaching around her he tried the door with increasing amounts of force, finding it jammed as well. "Take it off and I can get in here better."

Scully froze, mortified by his instruction.

"I, uh, I- I can't, sir," she faltered.

“What?”

“All my clothes are dirty, and…” She dropped her head in disgrace. “Just understand that I can’t.”

He looked inquisitively at her a moment before understanding washed over his ridged features.

Scully sipped at her root beer, thoroughly humiliated. She heard him exhale and didn’t know what to expect. How could she explain herself? What must he think of her?

“Stay… still,” he said, and uncomfortably maneuvered around her as best as he could, pushing the door a couple more times but couldn't get any leverage from the position he was working from. “It’s not budging.” He declared and stepped back. He looked around the hall and toward the lobby, thinking.

He could get the night manager, but he wouldn't be able to do much more than he could which wasn't much with Scully in the way. And he didn't need to see the man's face when Scully said for the second time, she wouldn't be able to take the coat off... But she was going to have to take the damned thing off, the thought harassed him.

Resigned to the awkward fact of the situation Skinner exhaled hard. "Here," he said taking his glasses off and handing them to her, "hold these."

Scully did as he said, taking his glasses from him, taken off guard and not knowing what the man had in mind until she looked around saw him take a step back and began pulling his tee shirt off. This isn’t happening, Scully thought, speechless. Why is this happening?

Skinner handed the shirt to her, taking his glasses back. "Get out of the coat and put this on," he told her brusquely, turning his back to her.

A whole new sensation of chagrin swept through her as she put her drink on the floor and unbuttoned the coat. All she wanted was a soda, not much to ask for. Neither was a clean change of sleep ware either, she agonized stepping out the coat into the chilly air.

Keeping an eye on the hall and awkwardly searching for something to preoccupy his attention, Skinner inadvertently caught sight of their reflection in the glass of the fire hose case on the wall.

Struck, he found himself respecting dominant curves and swells cast in the glass that proclaimed the statement "for emergency use only." A disturbing sense of exuberance promptly struck him, followed sluggishly by a more rational awareness of station that made him look away from the... illuminating reflection. He looked away, taking a deep settling breath to recenter his thoughts.

"Okay," Scully said as she checked the length of the tee shirt. With the sleeves nearly to her elbows and the tail falling just above her knees she was nearly lost in the black shirt that had been almost too tight on him.

Hesitantly, he turned back to the door and agent Scully. After a couple of hardy shoves, he got the vending room door open, and her coat fell to the floor.

"You don't mind if I wait to give you this back until I get in my room?" she asked, referring to the shirt and already knowing the answer.

He nodded wearily and they started toward Scully's room, hearing spectral voices and televisions through the hall and feeling a draft biting at them along the short distance. He really didn't care if he got the t-shirt back if he just got out of this suggestive state of appearance. Strolling around a hotel bare chested with a subordinate who as well was barely covered wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of doing.

Scully got the key from her coat pocket and put it in the lock, and he thought he was free. As soon as she got that door open, he was going back to the room, maybe he’d even get lucky, and Mulder wouldn't be there yet. The bothersome agent hadn't come back yet by the time Skinner could stand the confines of the room no longer and had to stretch his legs. He was surprised he'd fallen asleep so easily, he'd only sat down for a moment and then he was awakened by...

The sight of Scully shoving the door with a demure amount of force and working with the key cut off his thought. Now what, he wondered hearing the muffled sound of a television in the hall.

"This door," she declared, annoyed. "What is it with doors tonight?"

"Let me see," he said stepping up to try it just as someone rounded the corner in the hall, the person stopped abruptly drawing his attention.

Scully saw Skinner look and turned to see Mulder in the hall. He was gawking at the two of them, his expression shifting between awestruck abashment and total amusement.

"Mulder?" Scully said, startled and sounding randomly guilty.

The muffled sound of group laughter wafted into the hall from the unseen television.

An insipid grin formed on Mulder's lips finally as he started walking toward his scantily clad partner and superior. "I thought I was having all the fun across the road..." he said with the slightest of slurs. "Weird weather we're having?"

"Mulder, we- I, my coat," Scully tried to get an explanation out, breaking off the stammering as Mulder raised his hand dismissing the scene.

"Don't mind me," he said staggering a bit past them, "I'm just passing through... or maybe out... Wake me when we get to DC."

"Mulder?" Scully called to him, aggravated by his insinuation.

He kept going, shaking his head to himself as he said, "Cause I know this is the weirdest dream I've ever had…” he laughed, and drifted into half-hearted singing, “Mama told me not to come…"

Behind her, Skinner let out an intolerant breath that grazed her neck. This was an assumption of the worst kind, and this was one of those times that nothing was going to sound truthful or let alone believable.

"Forget it, Scully," he told her, shoving the obstinate door open with more force than warranted. The door swung wide open and slammed against the wall with a loud sound that made Scully flinch. "Sorry," Skinner apologized, but his voice lacked sincerity as he gestured for her to go in and followed. He tossed her coat across a chair back as he shut the door and checked the wall for damage.

Scully went straight into the bathroom. Shutting the door, she double-checked to make sure her robe was there before pulling off the T-shirt, she didn't need to find herself in another situation. It was enough that they'd been caught by, of all the people, Mulder in the hallway.

But caught, she thought pulling the shirt over her head. Caught doing what? Nothing in the least was going on to dictate the slightest bit of guilt or embarrassment. So why did she feel both in varying degrees of intensity? She wondered about it, catching the slight scent of a discreet cologne on the garment, and paused.

Unsteadily, she was suddenly aware of the fact that she was wearing a man’s T-shirt and now enjoying the heady hint of cologne on it. But this wasn't just any man and therein lied an unsettling concern for her sudden twinge of... exhilaration.

Pulling the shirt off quickly and putting her robe on, she dismissed the base thoughts, recognizing their reasons for surfacing. She was only human and a definite lack of intimacy in her life as of late couldn't help but create certain notions toward even...

"Sir," Scully said coming out of the bathroom, appearing to extend the shirt from herself as far as possible when handing it to him. "Thank you," she told him feeling secretly guilty and uncomfortable at the same instance.

Taking the shirt, he just looked at it for an instant. Scully could have sworn she saw a hint of a smile on his lips before he took his glasses off and pulled the shirt back on.

"Next time you go to the vending room, agent Scully," Skinner began, moving to the door, putting his glasses on, "try to dress more appropriately."

She started to apologize but enough was said and done, and it was better left alone.

"Good night, sir," Scully hastily said, nearly leaping at the door to let him out.

Jerking on the stubborn door she noticed him eyeing her incredulously and knew how frantic to open the door she must have appeared. She stopped, laughing at herself. "What is it with the doors tonight?" she asked herself.

"Must be the weather," he offered with a hint of astute awareness in his tone and opened the door with less zeal than she had employed.

Stepping into the hall he hesitated before closing the door, looking at her reflectively. "Good night, Dana," he at last said quietly and shut the door.

----------- X ----------

Continued in Part 2: Brief Encounters

[acourtofthought]

Why Gwyn would be better suited for Az:

But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

This sentence tells us so much about Az's character. It takes a very persistent person to break down Az's walls. He's a master at holding things inside of him and the only type of person he will share things with is the type of person that will push him, even against his initial deflection.

People use Az's hesitation against interacting with Gwyn in the POV Bonus Chapter as some kind of mark against their ship but what they don't realize is Gwyn is EXACTLY the right kind of female for Az.

What happened when Az rejected Elain?

“this was a mistake.”

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn't really matter why Az rejected Elain because she believes he and he alone rejected her. What does Elain do when that happens? Apologizes to him. She's hurt by his rejection yet she apologizes to him.

If that were Nesta I have no doubt she'd sling something back at Az like "what do you mean mistake? Have you or have you not been staring at me the last few months?" or something like, "your loss". 😂

I love Elain, she's my favorite female of the series. But she's not brazen or aggressive or persistent. She does prefer to keep her head down and not make waves. I don't doubt we'll see her come into her own in her book (we already got hints of that in SF) but I don't think Elain will ever be pushy or demanding when she senses someone isn't comfortable. To me, she seems like the kind of person to pick up on someone's discomfort and respect that, to not push them.

Which might be great for another Male who will eventually talk when he's ready, but not someone like Az who (based on the above) will NEVER have that conversation unless someone pushes him to do so.

But Gwyn......

Sort of. “I forgot something,” he reminded her.

“At two in the morning?” Pure amusement glittered in her stare.

Right away, Gwyn challenges him. She doesn't take what he says at face value.

“They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?”

“I am a shadowsinger- it’s not a title that someone just made up.”

She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Do you, though?” She pressed. “Sing?”

Azriel couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “Yes.”

She opened her mouth to ask more, but he didn’t feel like explaining. Or demonstrating, So Az jerked his chin to the sword dangling from her hand. “Try cutting the ribbon again.”

“What- with you watching?”

He nodded.

She considered, and he wondered if she’d say no, but Gwyn blew out a breath, steadied her feet and balance, and sliced.

In the above, we have Gwyn ask Az a personal question which he deflects. Even with that deflection she circles back around and persists, asking again. Then when Az redirects because he doesn't want to demonstrate (I mean really, who ever wants to sing in front of anyone on command unless you're interested in becoming a professional singer? It's not really that strange that Az didn't want to demonstrate). Even with this new deflection though, Gwyn isn't put off. Her feelings aren't hurt and she doesn't shut down. She moves right along with the conversation and refocuses on the ribbon.

When Az finally says goodnight, he even notes Gwyn's persistent, "cheeky" personality as a positive considering he calls it "charming".

A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone.

Not only did Gwyn demonstrate that she's got no issues pushing back on the things Az tells her but he finds it to be a positive aspect of who she is.

At this point in time it doesn't matter who is interested in who. This is an SJM book and we know that even if a character wants someone at the start of a novel, they can end up with someone completely different by the end. What is important is what we know of characters outside of any romantic interactions and who they are as an individuals. Based on that and that alone gives you an idea of who would best be suited for them and I've got to say, Gwyn is exactly the type of female that Az needs. Not only because she won't back down when he puts up his walls but she also won't feel hurt by his initial reaction which will often be to shut the conversation down when it's something he wants to avoid (which isn't a healthy response when done as regularly as Az tends to do).

[hlizr50]

A Very Special Drabble Day

Today my drabble is doing double duty, and what better person to honor than literally my very first Tumblr friend, @trashforazriel

She requested "competitive Gwynriel that ends with a kiss"

And I finished it just in time to celebrate Romance day with @azrielshadowsingerweek !!

Fandom: ACOTAR

Ship: Gwynriel

Word Count: 685

Read on AO3

“One day I’m going to best you, Shadowsinger. Mark my words.”

Azriel smirked as the copper-haired Valkyrie dramatically flopped onto her back, perspiration sparkling over her brow in the moonlight. Gwyn seemed to be improving by the hour and, though he’d never admit it, it was quite possible that she would manage to win a sparring match in the not-so-distant future. But he wouldn’t make it easy for her. With an arrogant snicker he loomed over her, arms crossed over his chest.

“In your dreams, Berdara.” Offering a hand, he helped her up from the dirt floor of the ring.

“In your nightmares,” she corrected, and his laugh echoed into the warm summer evening.

“Terrifying indeed,” he answered. “Ready for core?” The priestess groaned in response, but her scowl transformed before his very eyes, her bright, beautiful gaze lighting with mischief.

“How about a little competition. Dagger throwing.” She gestured to the targets on the other side of the ring. “If you win, I’ll do whatever hellish core workout that depraved mind of yours can concoct.”

The shadowsinger raised a skeptical brow. “And if you win?”

Gwyn dragged her plump, pink lower lip between her teeth. “If I win, you give me a kiss. And we get to skip core for the night.”

His heart stuttered, lungs seizing in his chest at her suggestion. The silence stretched between them as he studied her expression, shy smile and wide, innocent eyes that glimmered with a hint of uncertainty. In a blur their interactions flashed through his mind, all of the times that he’d hoped that he had seen a hint of the same interest that he held for her. Azriel had been too afraid to test those waters, unwilling to make Gwyn even the slightest bit uncomfortable. But perhaps…

“I agree to your terms, priestess,” he murmured, reveling in the way roses bloomed on her cheeks. The Illyrian made his way to the weapons rack and retrieved six daggers, offering three of them to his companion. “Ladies first.”

“How very chivalrous of you,” she quipped. Her irreverence pulled another smile out of him, as it did quite often these days.

Azriel watched as Gwyn studied the blade and turned it over in her hand, testing the grip and the weight and the balance. Then, gripping the blade, she cocked her arm back and let it fly, the metal burying itself just to the right of where the dummy’s heart would be. She shrugged, lips turned down in an accepting grimace, before nodding to him.

The spymaster’s dagger struck true in the heart of his own target. And, since he had made the better hit, he quickly threw first for the second round, his blade burying itself in the padded sphere that was the figurine’s head.

He turned to the Valkyrie, only to be met with a heated, challenging glare. Gwyn sent her second dagger whizzing to the target, striking an area that would be… rather sensitive to a male. Azriel choked on a cough, and she now raised her own eyebrow.

“Point taken, Berdara. That round is yours.” His heart fluttered at the ear-splitting grin she gave him. With a jerk of his chin he added, “Final round. It all comes down to this.”

Gwyn’s answering eye-roll made him chuckle, but she didn’t give a witty retort. She was solely focused on the target, firing her last blade. It lodged itself in what would have been the stomach, and her nose crinkled in disappointment. It wasn’t a poor shot - it would be a grave injury - but it was not a killing blow.

The priestess was gnawing on her lip when he turned to him, no doubt waiting for his victory and subsequent abdominal agony.But Azriel didn’t want to work core. Didn’t want to make her, didn’t want to watch her. His hazel eyes burned into fathomless seas, his gaze never leaving hers as he tossed his third dagger over his shoulder. It earned him a gasp and a delicious blush as he stepped up to her, cupped her cheek, and slanted his mouth over hers.

Tag List: @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430 @writing-spaces @onemorenightdreamer @feyretale @almosttenaciousmoon @mystical-blaise @the-introverted-bibliophile @live-the-fangirl-life @silverflameataraxia @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @kimstclair @mercarimari @romancebooksandshit @headcanonheadcase @booknerd87 @damedechance @ofduskanddreams @daevastanner @houseofhurricane

[lesbianmarrow]

further thoughts on legends of tomorrow 4.12: 

i think it’s really genius for the show to use ava getting sent to purgatory as a way to show how ava feels she’s in an uncertain, transitory state in her relationship with sara. it’s a nice way to marry the supernatural elements of the show with character exploration and development. and it’s especially great to have a story involving purgatory centered on ava in particular, not just because of the current state of her relationship with sara but also because as someone who cares so much about rules and order, uncertainty is something that scares and disturbs ava. she hates not knowing exactly how things are going to play out. so it’s a very fun way to challenge ava and delve into her character. 

evil ikea is such an unexpected torture site for ava and i like that it takes some time before we really start to understand why this place upsets her so much. part of it is certainly that visiting a furniture store like ikea is necessary in order to create a home, and in ava’s case she really wants to make a home with sara, but in this purgatory she’s forced to wander alone as she watches other couples building their lives together. it’s a great visual representation of that transitory state her relationship with sara is stuck in - do they have a future together or not? ava doesn’t know, and that’s torture for her. 

but of course, there’s more to it! toward the climax of this storyline, we see sara trapped in the warehouse of avas, and it all suddenly becomes perfectly clear. ava’s purgatory takes the form of a giant retailer because she is uncomfortable with the way that her own body was objectified and commodified by the corporation that created her and the other clones. when she visited 2213, she was forced to confront the fact that she did not possess the control over her body and identity that she always believed she did. this anxiety manifests in an extreme way: the nightmare of dozens of packaged versions of ava, all trapped in boxes and forced to perform specific roles or functions regardless of their own desires. evil ikea is so upsetting to ava because she identifies with the merchandise. and the episode communicates this without ava ever saying the word “clone” or directly referencing her past at all. i just think that’s really fantastic writing. 

this episode sees ray trying and failing to be a white knight for nora, but one could argue that sara attempts the same thing for ava when she first lands in purgatory. sara tries to lead ava out of purgatory in her chaotic, irreverent way, first by trying to find an exit randomly and then by assembling the dresser without looking at the instructions. both of her attempts fail. sara seems to quite like playing the hero in her love life - we’ve seen it with the 1950s nurse and with queen guinevere, among others. she jumped into purgatory with the intention of saving ava. but ava doesn’t need to be saved, she needs to be listened to. sara can’t save ava from her own worries and insecurities. she can only stand resolutely by her, build a life with her, and reassure her that she is loved. it’s the only way they can escape the horrible uncertainty and move on with their lives and their relationship. 

i’m also fascinated by the ambivalence of the gary we see in the purgatory, and what it means for how ava perceives gary. initially he seems timid and annoying, which feels pretty close to how gary is usually portrayed in the show and how ava in particular views him. even though ava is irritated by him, he does help them get started on escaping the purgatory, dropping the hint about the dresser. that seems to reveal a grudging recognition on ava’s part that gary is sometimes useful to her. but the part that really interests me is when sara is transported to the warehouse of avas and gary appears to act as salesperson. he discusses ava in a dehumanizing and objectifying way, including sexually objectifying her. i think it’s so interesting that these two versions of gary, the timid annoying one and the callous dehumanizing one, both exist in ava’s purgatory. the show usually plays gary’s obsession with ava for jokes, but this depiction of gary, colored by ava’s perspective, suggests that it might be more sinister - or at least that ava suspects or fears that it could be. i don’t expect the show to commit to exploring this idea, since it seems to find gary’s obsession with ava hilarious, but it was interesting to see here. 

[lizard-reads-the-world]

Book Review: The Library of the Dead by T.L. Huchu (🇬🇧Scotland)

[image 1: book cover: a European city at night in moody blues and black with a seated classical statue to each side, and underneath, an underground chamber with pillars and stairs. Title overlaid in yellow whimsical spooky font; image 2: world map showing Scotland; image 3: North Merchiston Cemetery & St. Michael’s Parish, Edinburgh: a green cemetery with some headstones fallen over, behind trees in the background, a square church tower. Source: wikimedia commons]

The Library of the Dead

Author: T.L. Huchu

Category: MG/YA

YA World Challenge read for 🇬🇧 Scotland

My Notes

I rolled the randomizer for Zimbabwe (yeah, we're back to the randomizer, but only sometimes.) So I checked out Tendai Huchu's The Hairdresser of Harare but felt hmm, this is kind of too "mundane adult" for my purposes. But I moved on to the same author's YA book and man am I glad I did because The Library of the Dead is awesome. BUT... it's super super Scottish. Despite the MC's Zimbabwean heritage popping in a little it's one of those books where essentially the city is also a character, you know, and that city is Edinburgh. So I'm going to file this one as a read for Scotland, and either go back to the first choice or see what I can find for Zimbabwe!

First line

I’m really not supposed to be doing this, but a girl’s gotta get paid.

Review

Ropa is a tough, don’t-give-a-shit teen who’s dropped out of school to be the family breadwinner with her talent for ghosttalking, delivering messages between the dead and their loved ones. She doesn’t have time to deal when a new ghost wants help finding her disappeared son, but ends up getting roped into it anyway. Along the way there’s also a magical secret society library, and Ropa’s excitable new sidekick Priya, who’s riding her wheelchair on ceiling when they meet.

So, Ropa’s voice is what makes this book. She’s cynical, irreverent, oh-so-colorful, and with a fierce duty to protect the family she’s got left. I really enjoy when books have voice, and this one really does. Sometimes I wasn’t sure when the author was using Scottish-isms or when he was making stuff up, because I think there is a mix of both, and it’s fun. 

The setting is a sort of near-future semi-dystopian Edinburgh with Magic is Officially Known mixed in. Through some mix of climate, riots, and resource scarcity that’s only hinted at, Scotland has become a proud but sharply class-divided place under an English absolute monarchy. The city features heavily, and those familiar with Edinburgh and able to recognize the streets and landmarks could probably get extra enjoyment out of this book.

The mystery itself is pretty straightforward. If you are looking for a plot to really flip your world upsidedown you won’t find it here - the book is pretty MG level in that regard. I recommend it more for the atmosphere and the characters. The library and secret society are an intriguing magical academia setting, and this book seems to be setting it up for more exploration in future books.

Though this is upper MG, as far as colorful language I think our British friends are much less prudish than Americans with regard to children’s books - just something to keep in mind. (There isn’t any sexual or overly violet content.)

Overall, I sped through this book and really enjoyed it, and would definitely recommend. It also has an all-POC core cast. 

There is a sequel, Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments, and a third book in the works.

Other reps: #homelessness #disabled wheelchair-using side character #no romance

Genres: #paranormal #mystery #dystopian #magic

★  ★  ★  ★  ★    5 stars    

Read it at  Bookshop.org  |  Amazon

[pioryofdontshowthebigdragonfirst]

spoiler ramble for The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon, about Ead and Sabran and why i gave up reading further after page 400

(the sentences in this book are the most beautiful i've ever seen. they feel like poetry)

(and still)

That there was all this set up for every bit of magic Ead did to protect Sabran only feeding into Sabran’s desperate fanatic belief that she truly IS a divinely blessed demi god, savior of the world

Ever more firmly believing herself destined to banish the nameless one back into the abyss based on a lie told by her ancestor, each miracle spurring her to take more and more risks, forcing Ead to secretly use more and more magic saving her-

Ead all the time risking being exposed as a sorceress and burned at the stake for the very magic that’s been keeping Sabran alive-

the fact that Sabran’s slow fascination with Ead came from how “truthful” Ead seemed to be with her, how frank and irreverent Ead was with her divine queen, this foreign convert from a heretic land telling Sabran her honest opinion even when it was upsetting instead of pandering to Sabran to gain favor

the irony of Ead hiding so much from her and lying with nearly every breath that she can’t help being honest in the few ways she has left-  

Ead treating Sabran like a normal woman because she IS NOT divine in Ead’s heretic eyes, Sabran completely unaware, revealing some of her own upsetting truths in return knowing Ead won’t be shocked by this side of her, the only person she doesn’t have to fear being ugly and weak and terrified around, not understanding WHY Ead isn’t overawed by or overly worrying over her-

her belief Ead would never lie to her- Her desire for immortality and fear of death- how fire could not touch her when she challenged a dragon but it wasn’t the Saint that saved her it was a sorceress in a clocktower-

how Ead’s efforts to save Sabran could have been what drove Sabran confidently towards doom

a queen convinced she truly is divine demanding the world bow to her for the sake of their own salvation, riding into a battle she can’t win, blinded by faith, goaded by duty and courage  

the choice of aiding in carnage or confessing all and watching Sabran fall apart

the trap of knowing Sabran is only a mortal woman but also the woman Ead has lost her heart to and she can’t watch her die, but telling the truth of her lies will utterly shatter the bond Sabran thinks they have built together   

her prioress giving up on protecting Sabran and recalling Ead home to take on a role of great honor and power, yet Ead asks to stay a little longer, she can’t leave Sabran like this, she can’t-

All this set up. This potential.

And where does it go?

where does it go…

A couple of pages after they get frisky, wham, separated by someone else.

Not even a chapter of dread spent worrying about them getting found out, sprinkled with hints of Ead getting sloppy in her lovesickness or Sabran more daringly indecent. No release for the delicious tangle of lies and conflicting faith they'd fallen into.

Just get them away from each other as fast as possible.

Just as it was really getting interesting.

....At least it was lovely, while it lasted.

[iridiscent-aesthetics]

I just saw your headcanon of az being jealous of gwyn and eris, may I suggest the opposite? gwyn being jealous of az and eris talking.

Oh I LOVE this one! Might be a tad bit tricky but I'm soo very up for it! Thank you @aelingalathyniusrailme for SUCH a great idea!

Gwyn would've found this entertaining. IF it wasn't Azriel there. She was aware of their hatred. Aware that they were literally always at each others throats. But she couldn't help but fume with jealousy while watching them in the training ring take on each other. Blow to blow, matching at each stride. She was watching Eris and Az spar. It began with a heated argument leading to the Autumn court heir challenging the Shadowsinger to spar. And now here they were, since a straight of 15 minutes, sparring. Neither nowhere close to yielding. Gwyn was cursing the redheaded male with all she had for choosing sparring instead of dueling. The absence of the weapons as a bridge and the proximity of their sweaty bodies was too much, nor did it help that neither had a shirt on. The angst, the tension built between them; it seemed straight out of one of her smutty romance books. Gwyn wasn't liking this one bit. "Come on guys, We get it! You're strong and bold. You're Fearless males! There. fed your bloated male egos. Now stop. would you?!" She yelled, throwing her hands in the air frustrated. "Let them be Gwyn, this is far more entertaining than having to listen them arguing to the point of biting each others heads off." Cassian stood besides her crossing his arms and watching them with a hint of curiosity as to who would win. Gwyn bet her money on Az because she would have it no other way, but as much as she hated to admit, Eris was just as good. "Yeah Gwyn. Besides, two of the hottest males fighting, now that's a sight to sore eyes. Enjoy the show!" Nesta chimed in elbowing her, eyeing Cass as he put his hand to his heart and feigned a dramatic expression of pain. Nesta rolled her eyes. "Oh I'll give you a good show Ness." He said scooping her in his arms and took to the sky. Newly mated idiots, couldn't stay away for a minute. Gwyn looked back to the ring and groaned "Well at least take a break!" "Okay!" Yelled Az before delivering a good blow right to Eris's jaw. "Break." There. That should teach the male a lesson for getting all cocky and getting Az worked up. "Going easy on me Shadowsinger?" Eris said rubbing his jaw. Mother! this male's audacity was insufferable! "Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face of yours, your highness." Az smirked back. Gwyneth clenched her fist. Pretty face?! What in all of Prythian made Az think Eris was pretty! Did he find him attractive? Was he into males? Eris was beyond fine, he was VERY attractive. A strong jaw and sharp eyes with a strong intensity. The male was hot . quite literally. He would make a fit equal to Az. His lethal darkness and Eris's burning fire. She shook her head, No. She was over thinking, Az hated Eris; old bad blood. There was no way he'd fall for him. But she'd make sure of it. Az walked out of the training pit and straight to her, sweat dripping off him. Gwyn couldn't tear her eyes off him. "Enjoying the show Berdara?" Came a teasing Azriels' voice. "Mhmm." She didn't even want to deny it, let him know she was attracted to him. About time it got through that dense head of the Night Court's infamous Spymaster. "Hey Az..., what's your type?" She shot him the question looking everywhere but him. He shot his head to her. "What?" She finally met his gaze. "I'm asking you what kind of people you're attracted to Shadowsinger!" Gwyn was certain her face was as red as her hair now. He looked into her eyes for a hard moment before answering in a low voice. "Redheads. Stubborn ones with a fiery attitude at that. Bonus if they're competitive." He was still looking straight into her eyes, with a small smirk, tilting his head aside as if waiting for her expression, while his shadows were dancing around her in excitement. Gwyn's jaw almost dropped. Along with her heart as it fell to her shoe. She was right. Of course. Of course he was attracted to fucking Eris. Redhead, stubborn, fiery attitude AND competitive. Should've added fire d*ck to the list. "Right." She'd say nothing else. She looked away. "Gwyn?" Came his voice again. Her heart ached as she looked over

to Azriel's concerned face, trying to keep her sorrow reeled in within her. His shadows were frantically jumping around them. "Is everything alright, why'd you ask?" She gave him her best smile. "Yes of course." she waved it off. " just curious." He didn't seem convinced at the slightest but didn't push as he held up a water bottle and drank. Gwyn couldn't stop herself then, She was still his friend, He deserved to be happy, even if not with her. She'd help him pursue Eris. Even if the male would never deserve Az. "So I take it you're into males?" Az choked on the water he was drinking. "What?" He croaked out. Gwyn rose an eyebrow. "Males Shadowsinger, the ones that usually have a d*ck and insufferable egos but pea sized brains?" Azriel looked amused. "You forget that I'm a male too priestess." "Didn't." She muttered and leveled him with a bored stare. "Answer the question Spymaster." Az looked away, his gaze probably searching for Eris. "I've had male lovers in the past. But I've never felt a strong attraction, especially romantic attraction to them over five centuries. Pretty sure nothing's changed now." "Then Eris- how, He's an exception?" Azriel looked at her with a bewildered expression eyes widened. "Eris? What-why, what about him Gwyn?" Gwyn rolled her eyes, hands on her hips, looking down at him. "Quit the puppy eyes act Az. It fine admitting you're attracted to Eris, he's okayish. You'd look good together I guess. Enemies to Lovers arc, angsty slow burn romance,," she shrugged nonchalantly even though she was fuming inside. Az's shadows dropped. To say he was shocked was an understatement. Should he laugh, should he be hurt, or angry maybe? Eris? Of all people in Prythian, HIM? Gwyn though he was attracted to THAT male? "Gwyneth." He started in an emotionless tone face solemn, "What the actual fuck led you to THAT conclusion?" "Oh please. It was evident, for all that being Spymaster and stuff, you sure are obvious about your crushes. I mean for starts, you HATE him, or at least ACT like you do. That's always the first step to enemies to lovers. And then you guys are ALWAYS bantering! Score 2. And did you SEE that tension while you were sparring? AND Flirting with Eris? Its clear as day 'Mr. I show No Emotion'. And Redheads? Seriously Az, could you have even tried and been any more subtle? Az looked at her for a dead half a minute and then burst out laughing so hard that everyone in the training arena were now staring at them in pure shock to see the infamous Spymaster laughing his ass off. Az looked at her, trying to stop laughing, but one look at her angry face and he burst out in fits all over again. Gwyn kicked him good and hard in the knee. "Ouch!" He yelled, not stopped laughing as he held his knee. "Gwyn- I oh Cauldron. Wait." He heaved in and out. "Good shot Berdara." He said with a hint of pride, still chuckling. Gwyn kicked him again. "Nice try deflecting Spymaster." Az shook his head rapidly, still trying to catch his breath. He calmed down and looked at her. "Gwyneth Berdara. My darling. You thought I was attracted to Eris?" He started laughing again. Gwyn grew nervous, "You're not? But you said Redhead, Stubborn, Fiery attitude, Competitive. Eris is all that." "Well I'm not attracted to Eris. AT ALL. Please don't ever say or even think of that again. Please. For the sake of my sanity." Gwyn sighed in relief. "Sorry, I assumed Wrong." But then she tensed again. "But then, if not Eris, then..." She trailed off. If he wasn't attracted to Eris, then who else was it? Redheads? Lucien? Az stood up and held her arms. "Gwyn. Gwyn look at me." She looked up at him with weary eyes. "Can you think of a better Redhead? A stubborn, competitive, fierce one? She's fearless and strong." Gwyn scrunched her nose in thought. A she, was it Vassa? He flicked her nose. "She's a Valkyrie Gwyn." A Valkyrie? There weren't many new ones other than her, Emerie and Nesta, only about two or three. She looked around to see if there were any redheads in them. Az rubbed his hands on his face. "Mother's sake Gwyn,

its YOU." Her eyes shot to his in disbelief. He liked HER? "I- you, me?" She pointed a finger to herself. "You like me?" Azriel was furiously blushing red, he rubbed the back of his neck giving her a sided grin. "Yeah...that's what I'm saying..." Gwyn thought she was going to burst with all the emotions. "I-" Before she could say anything else Eris walked up to them. "Break over yet Shadowsinger?" He smirked. Gwyn growled, literally growled and stepped in front of Az. "Stay away from him Eris, find someone else to play fight. If I see you anywhere near him or talking to him, I swear to the mother, I will rip your throat out." Eris took a step back at her promised violence. "Hiding behind a female, Scared of losing Spymaster?" Gwyn took a step at him, she was certain she'd show Eris hell today. "Leave us alone Eris. I've scored my best win today." He said, looking at Gwyn fondly and putting a hand on her shoulder. Eris snorted and left muttering something to himself. "So..., are we going to talk about how adorable you are when you're jealous and angry? Especially over Eris?" Az teased her with a huge grin and happy eyes "I have no idea what you're talking about." Gwyn shrugged in charming irreverence. His gaze darkened as he looked into her ocean eyes, "You never finished what you were saying before asshole Eris butted in?" Gwyn gave him a soft smile before reaching up to his collar and pulling him down so she could kiss him. She pecked his lips once slightly before letting go and grinning at him while she walked away, leaving Az to process what happened and blush furiously like a teenager. He watched Gwyn walk away in victory. Mother, this female never failed to amaze him, And he was certain that this wouldn't be the last time. For the first time in five centuries, Az found hope. Found himself looking forward for the next day, and the rest of his life. Something sparked in his chest at the thought, A smile unconciously made way to his lips, like every time he thought of Gwyn; and this time, he didnt make to erase it. He'd let it for the world to see, the happiness Gwyneth Berdara brought to his life.

It's not about them talking exactly, but this seemed more fun to write😅

I tried! Not sure if it was good enough, but I've never really tried writing from Gwyn's POV.

Feedback, suggestions and other ideas always welcome!